


Doldrums

by AlibiRooms



Series: Trials [1]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Ghosts, I do not picture the actors when I write I don't know if that helps, M/M, Past Spock/Nyota Uhura, Post-Star Trek (2009), Slow Burn, Soul Bond, Supernatural Elements, T'hy'la, characters loosely based on movie, content warning: brief restrictive eating habits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:47:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 76,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21969271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlibiRooms/pseuds/AlibiRooms
Summary: Warp Drive is malfunctioning, Spock may or may not have a new Vulcan girlfriend, and Jim is seeing ghosts on his ship. It's going be a hell of a week.
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Spock, Leonard "Bones" McCoy/Nyota Uhura
Series: Trials [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2105769
Comments: 58
Kudos: 219





	1. The Trial

Jim woke with a start, glancing first to the chronometer on his desk and groaning at the time. 0500. He had to be up in less than an hour, and he’d much rather sleep until the exact moment the alarm –

He sat up straighter as another noise reached his ears. His heart, he realized belatedly, was pounding away in his throat. Because the low scuffling that had woken him up apparently belonged to an indistinct, dark shape standing very still just outside the faint glow of the chronometer.

“Computer – lights on,” he said quickly. Abruptly, the room flooded with light. Soft, yellow light, but it still had him squinting around as his eyes adjusted. Nothing. There was nothing in his room. Of course there wasn’t.

It took a minute of staring at the corner for the last dregs of sleep to truly fade away, and then he really felt silly. Must have been a nightmare.

With an affectionate, wistful pat to his pillow, he threw his sheets to the side and stretched. The bathroom was pleasantly warm and chased away the last of the chill on the back of his neck; a side-effect of Spock and his freak need for heat sitting just on the other side of the door. Jim considered knocking – he was sure Spock was awake. Being a nuisance to his First Officer always made him feel better.

But, no, he decided. Spock was probably working or buffing his nails or doing that thing where he sat on the floor for hours with his eyes closed. They’d see each other soon enough.

Alone and drowsy, he walked down the empty hall toward the turbolift, tugging his uniform into place and checking over his shoulder warily. _It’s nothing,_ he berated himself, stepping into the lift and pressing for Deck 21. _Just leftover stress from the Betazed mission._

There’d been a bit of a political blow up between the Betazoids and Dramian Ambassadors. The _Enterprise_ was the closest ship with both Dramian and Betazoid crewmembers, so the Federation called her to rush over and try to diffuse the situation.

A few Betazoids on the ship was no problem, but standard protocol for beaming down to the planet’s surface meant getting shot to hell with psi-blockers if you were Human (one of the races most susceptible to Betazoid empathy influence). His neck still hurt and he had a low-grade headache for going on two days now.

It also had helped, Jim thought, that the _Enterprise_ was the only ship with a Vulcan on board. A Commander, no less. Capable of connecting with the Betazoids on a telepathic level while also appealing to the emotionless nature of the Dramians. His smooth dissolution of the arguments on both sides had been a sight to behold, even if Jim had been rendered totally unnecessary by the whole thing.

Shame, too. He usually got along _very_ well with Betazoids. Something about him projecting his emotions more strongly than most Humans – essentially speaking their language without trying. It was like catnip to them. He asked Spock about it, once (“Hey, is me projecting my feelings all the time, like, a psychic cold shower to your Vulcan sensibilities?”), and gotten something perilously close to an eyeroll and a muttered comment about the entire galaxy was in danger of becoming well-acquainted with Jim’s _‘emotion’._

So his dumb Vulcan face had been almost palpably smug as McCoy jammed the psi-blocker into Jim’s neck, rendering him basically invisible to the Betazoid officials.

As Jim pushed into the dining area, lights dimmed at such an early hour, he whistled sharply to the only other person in the room. Bones jumped, coffee sloshing out of his mug and into his oatmeal.

“Dammit, Jim. I don’t get up this early to _socialize_. Go back to your room.”

“Negative,” Jim yawned, programming coffee and a bagel. “Those blockers must be wearing off. My third eye is wide open. I can read your mind.”

Bones grunted, too involved in his reading to pay much attention to Jim. Only a few minutes later, as Delta shift in the Engineering decks drew to a close, people started trickling in. He nodded and smiled at whoever looked his way while Bones grouched into his coffee. It was nice to not sit alone, even if he’d long given up trying to make his best friend a morning person.

“Off already?” He asked suddenly as Jim stood up. “You’ll be early.”

“Can’t hurt to get a head start,” Jim said, defensive even to his own ears. It wasn’t _so_ crazy for him to be early. “We should be in the Titus quadrant soon.”

“Joy,” Bones muttered. Jim left him to his sulking and made his way up to the bridge a full half-hour early. Lieutenant Tjandra, to her credit, was the only one to not visibly perk up at his unexpected appearance. With warm smiles and quick pleasantries, she sent him the night’s report before leaving him to it.

He only glanced through it; shift reports were almost always identical to the one before. It was Spock who actually did the reading –he _loved_ reports. That was the only reason Jim didn’t feel like too much of a lazy bastard.

“Status report, Helmsman Simmons.”

Simmons glanced down at his station screen for only a moment before responding, his New York accent nearly as thick as Chekov’s Russian one. “Steady at Warp Four, Captain. Approaching Kostolairian space in approximately three hours.”

Right on track, then. “Thanks,” he said, leaning back in his chair and finding the mission report in his mess of PADD files. Not that he would call this a _mission_ , per se. ‘Mission’ implied something exciting, something challenging. The only thing that would be challenged on this venture was Jim’s patience. Kostolairians were kind of like Vulcans in that way. Just a group of people taking things entirely too seriously.

Until two days previous, it was the _Triunfo’s_ mess. Jim thought it was his ship’s influence on Betazed that had changed Admiral Klintok’s mind. The old guy probably thought he was doing them a favor by making them attend the trial.

Jim looked up at the sound of the turbolift, nodding at Sulu and Chekov as they took their posts. It was ten-‘till, he couldn’t help but notice, and still no sign of Spock. Not that unusual, but, well, it was Spock. While change of shift brought the bridge to a seepy lull, Jim contemplated how best to gloat.

“Out of curiosity, Keptin,” Chekov swiveled around, eyes wide and curious. How he could have reviewed and understood the entire Gamma report in less than three minutes, Jim didn’t know. The kid was so squirrely and energetic that his extreme focus was surprising. But Jim liked that in his crew – being underestimated was always an advantage. “Vat is the nature of this trial?”

Jim shrugged. “No idea. The advising jury isn’t supposed to know anything before the pre-trial Convening. It’s not ‘protocol’.”

“Protocol,” Chekov nodded, knowing exactly how much Jim hated all things protocol. “Of course.”

Two more reports dinged in; from Engineering and Medical. He had already discussed a maintenance stop at Starbase 74 with Scotty. This was just the formal request. He forwarded it to the helm for Sulu to process and sent Bones’ Medical report to Spock’s station.

Which was still empty.

Just when he was starting to feel worried instead of victorious, Spock and Uhura walked out of the turbo together. Jim tried not to openly frown. He shouldn’t care, but come _on_. It was suspicious as hell!

“Captain,” Spock said, taking his spot next to the chair. Jim grinned.

“You’re _late_ , Commander.”

Spock’s fingers moved quickly across the screen of the First’s module. He didn’t hesitate before answering calmly. “Your use of the word implies that Alpha shift began before my arrival to the bridge. Factually inaccurate, as Command remains at Gamma status for another two point one four minutes.”

“Lucky for the ship. I don’t think we would have made it through without you.”

Sulu stifled a laugh, and Chekov lightly kicked his shin in admonishment. Spock ignored the jab completely, but the lines of his back were _just_ stiff enough for Jim to feel a pang of guilt.

He leaned forward, dropping his voice so no one would hear. “Everything alright? It’s just that you, y’know, have a terminal case of _early_.”

Spock turned his head just-so, showing that he was paying attention without looking away from the screen. “It was…a personal matter, Captain.”

Jim’s eyebrows shot up. Spock admitting to having a _personal_ matter was almost like admitting to being a _person_.

“Oh?” He inquired, not expecting any sort of elaboration. A glance over his shoulder showed Uhura engrossed in her station, headphones on.

“As the matter at hand is not pertinent to me, I am unable to claim responsibility for lost time.”

Jim’s mouth fell open a little. Spock had said that at normal volume, and although he doubted Uhura had heard it, the tone was clearly annoyed. Taking a moment to translate _Spock-ese_ , he took it to mean that she had probably forced him into a conversation he did _not_ want to have. Definitely something about feelings – maybe she wanted to get back together.

The thought made something in the back of his brain twitch, but he staunchly ignored it. Self-reflection was for losers.

Spock looked up at the front. “Status report, Helm.”

“Belay that order, Lieutenant,” Jim blurted as Sulu opened his mouth. Spock finally turned his full attention to Jim, his expression long-suffering. But Jim preened, ridiculously happy that Spock was here instead of off doing God-knew-what with Uhura. “I already received the status report, Commander, when I arrived _earlier._ ”

Sulu swiveled frontwards with a sigh, far too used to this to be offended.

“I commend your vigilance,” came Spock’s bone-dry response. “Perhaps an abundance of free time would be better served reviewing Parliamentary Procedure before our arrival in – “ he glanced down at his module. “ – two point two five hours.”

Jim aimed a dirty look at Sulu’s back. Sending that quick message would put him in Spock’s good books for a week. They probably had their own little _Jim-is-a-moron_ private chat going.

“My Parliamentary Procedure is just fine.”

“Of course, Captain,” Spock said smoothly, transferring the reports to a PADD and sitting down. A second later, Jim’s own PADD lit up with an incoming message, official Starfleet Parliamentary Procedures attached.

He held back a sigh. Maybe letting Spock have this one would be better for everyone. One of his moods could make an Alpha shift go on forever, and at his worst he could be downright terrifying. Jim knew better than most.

“Vulcan ship making themselves known, Captain,” Uhura called suddenly. Jim sat up straight. “Apollo class, unnamed. Headed to Kostolain at Warp Six. Arrival on par with ours.”

It would be childish to increase speed just to beat them there, so Jim didn’t suggest it. “If they’ve called for a Vulcan embassy, then it must be one hell of an emotional case. And would it kill you guys to name your ships?”

Spock stared at him, the skin between his eyebrows creasing just slightly. “Ship number, Lieutenant?”

“25669 point 0023.”

“Botany class.” The line disappeared, and Spock almost looked pleased. “No ambassadors aboard, but your theory is not without merit, Captain.”

Over the next two hours, Jim read over Kostolairian culture for posterity. Maybe it was his engrained, probably genetic need to compete with Vulcans, but he was suddenly a little more motivated to seem a least a little competent.

Kostolairian culture was actually passingly similar to Vulcan. They were _also_ obsessed with organization. Nothing was just said in mixed company – there was a ‘protocol’ for almost every situation. Emotion was all well and good, as long as you expressed it through the right channels. The more ancient practices were borderline incomprehensible to any outworlders, so, while they still adhered to them for planetside trials, joining the Federation had prompted them to adapt their practices to something more universal.

Oddly enough, they’d immediately stuck to Parliamentary Procedure, a dusty old Terran technique that most Humans only learned in passing while in secondary school. Jim had almost failed his Starfleet P&P course, a fact that Spock must be aware of to be making snide comments like that.

Any case that was related to non-Federation space went straight to Federation courts, but things that were more low-level were offloaded to colony courts or places like Kostolain, where the main import was court grants and Federation marshal salaries. Vulcan was known to take cases from time to time, but that was, well, _before_.

Jim found himself watching Spock again, wondering if he was secretly happy to be seeing some other Vulcans around. All survey ships and cruisers had withdrawn to New Vulcan for the past year, but they were starting to show up again here and there. Spock had been doing some sort of research in his off-time, trying to find plant life that would be compatible with New-Vulcan soil. Jim always had to hold himself back from giving sympathy about…everything. Spock didn’t seem to like it.

Even at his most relaxed, Spock was still sitting like an insane person. Whereas Jim had slumped so far down in his chair he was almost horizontal, Spock’s spine was a full two inches from the back of his. Long fingers made short movements over the screen of his PADD as his eyes scanned the words inhumanly fast. Jim had been staring at those hands a lot lately.

He and Spock were…friends. There was no way Spock would ever admit to it, but that’s definitely what they were. Not a month after the Kobayashi Maru disaster, Jim decided that they would either kill each other or be very good friends. Not that one of them hadn’t _tried_ to kill the other. But after that…rough patch, things had only improved.

All it took was a Code Red situation every now and then to snap them out of their chilly acquaintanceship, and it was obvious to all that they just _worked_ together. Eventually, that feeling blended over to the everyday life side of things. The bite left their words whenever they bickered. He started to distinguish what a Spock-joke sounded like, and vice-versa – he didn’t think he’d been called _illogical_ in almost three days.

They even played chess together after-hours. This was particularly dangerous, because a chess game with Spock was basically hand-porno. _Jesus,_ Jim thought, tearing his eyes away, _could you_ be _any more lame, Kirk?_

“More signals incoming, Captain,” Uhura piped up when they were about twenty minutes out.

“Yes, Lieutenant?”

She faced him, ponytail swinging. “Two ships in orbit, sir. Tellarite and Orion.”

He steepled his fingers under his chin. “Orion. You don’t say…anyone I – _we_ – know?”

She rolled her eyes, suppressing a smile. “Gaila’s stationed on the _Tereshkova_ , captain, as you well know.”

“Well, it can’t hurt to make new friends.” He was only joking, but when he spun back around he found that Spock had fixed him with a look.

“Captain, the presence of Orion representatives – “

“I know, I know,” Jim said, nodding. “It’s interesting.”

“Indeed.” Spock quirked an eyebrow.

“Scott to bridge,” Uhura announced.

“Let’s hear it.”

The intercom squeaked as the line opened up. “End Warp in two minutes, Captain.”

“And?” Jim prodded, a flicker of apprehension gathering in his gut. End of Warp announcement should have gone to Sulu, but Scotty had called up himself. Something was wrong.

“Aye, well…” he cleared his throat. “Once we drop out of Warp, sir, we may not be gettin’ her back.”

“Elaborate,” Spock said shortly, standing to pull up a diagram of the Warp core to his station screen. Jim took in the flashing red lights and swallowed.

“I’d like to, sir, but the problem’s just presented itself an’ we cannae get near the Core while at Warp. I can only guess at this point that it’s somethin’ tae do with the reaction assembly.”

“Your conjecture is noted, Lieutenant Commander.” Spock zoomed in on the diagram, making perfect sense of the mass of gibberish and flashing numbers that Jim didn’t have time to read properly before he swiped away. “When we’ve reached orbit, examine the dilithium articulation frame and regulator components.”

“Aye, sir.”

“Is that all at present, Scotty?” Jim asked, finger hovering above the end-call button.

“Aye. End Warp in ten seconds, sir. Scott out.”

Jim ended the call and sat up straight, planting his feet on the floor. Everyone on the bridge crew did the same except Spock, who just sat like that anyway. Jim counted to nine, and then the air around them shivered and space groaned as it reasserted itself around them. The blur of stars and nebulas in the viewscreen abruptly stilled, and Kostolain sat in front of them.

Jim had never been here in person, but he’d seen it in holovids and it didn’t disappoint. Well, it did a little. No one visited Kostolain for the scenery.

“Setting ship status to Orbit,” Chekov announced. Jim couldn’t feel it through the titanium flooring, but he knew that the thrusters would be lowering to half-power. Just enough to keep them near the planet without being sucked in to the gravity.

“Incoming call from planetside, Captain.”

“I didn’t set up my voice-mail yet, Uhura. Send them through.”

Spock gave him another look for that one, but someone on the operations deck snickered, so it was worth it. The viewscreen rippled, showing video feed of a Kostolarian decked out in full official regalia.

He was older, with a wispy white beard and a black _kipulke_ covering the top of his head. Showing off the hairless ridges on their skulls was considered a form of nudity, something strictly taboo outside of the marital bedroom. Jim remembered this, and felt a little exposed, starting to push his hair back nervously and quickly aborting the movement.

“Captain,” the man said, shaking his head side to side in greeting. It was akin to a bow, only doing that on _this_ planet would be something like sexual harassment. He answered with a head shake of his own. “I am Jorah, first minister to the Conference of Judges and Federal Marshal, fifth-rank.”

“James T. Kirk. It’s an honor to be party to these proceedings.”

“It is an honor for a Starfleet flagship to join our humble court.” Jorah nodded to himself, probably reciting the order of things in his head the same way Jim was. Now that the introduction was out of the way, they could move onto arranging the agenda. “The Converging will take place at 1200 hours. Food and refreshment will be provided. Protocol admits four Starfleet officers of Lieutenant rank or higher to attend. Only two may proceed to the Convening, which will take place directly after, at 1300 hours. The duration of this is uncertain, but should recess be necessary must not extend past 1600 hours. Are these terms acceptable to you?”

“These terms are acceptable,” Jim responded.

“Excellent. Coordinates for transport are being sent as we speak. Until we meet.”

“Until we meet,” Jim echoed. The screen went dark, and he let out a breath, slumping back. “Alright, any volunteers?”

The bridge was silent, and he got to experience the unique sensation of a room full of people avoiding his gaze.

“Uhura, you hungry?” He asked, because he was obviously taking his First Mate, and Jim was nothing if not a pot-stirrer.

Her eyes flickered between him and the still-silent Spock, narrowing slightly. “Starving, Captain.”

An unwilling, excited little shiver ran up his spine. Uhura was just a friend, obviously, but he wasn’t a _robot_. “Great. I’ll go scare up a fourth. That leaves us three hours to get ready.” He stood up and cracked his neck. “Sulu, the chair is yours.”

“Aye, sir.”

__________

He strolled into Bones’ office on foot instead of comming. It would bug him more that way. “Hey.”

“Absolutely not,” came the harsh reply. Jim sat down anyway, turning awkwardly in the tight, formal uniform.

“Come on, Bones. It’s just a lunch.”

“If you’re coming to me, it means everyone else said no.”

“Oh, so it’s because I didn’t ask you _first_. Got it. Nothing to do with the fact that your formal gear doesn’t fit anymore.”

Bones’ glare turned black. “It _fits_ , James.”

“Prove it.”

“Dammit, Jim,” he sighed, rubbing is eyes. “They’re down there opening the Warp core. I just _know_ something’ll happen the second I beam off ship.”

“It’s just one hour, Bones! Besides, what if Spock chokes on his food and you’re the only one who can save him? Would you really want to miss that opportunity?”

The barest hint of a smile crossed his friend’s face, and Jim knew he had him.

“No complaining at your check-ups,” Bones demanded. “And no red meat for a month.”

Like Jim didn’t know how to hack past McCoy’s restrictions on his profile. _Ha_. “Fine,” he allowed, getting to his feet. “Suit up, big guy. Beam off in two hours.”

“I’ll beam you,” he heard Bones mutter as he left.

They still didn’t have any details on the case, so he was bored out of his mind waiting for noon to roll around. He even knocked on Spock’s door, hoping for a quick game of chess or even the token protest of bothering him at the adjoining door instead of the hall entrance. But he either wasn’t there or Jim was being ignored.

Finally, the four of them convened on the transport pad. Uhura’s dress looked much more comfortable than the restricting trousers and too-tight shirt that the men were forced to wear. Not that the dress wasn’t an _option_ …No, Jim decided. Bones would never let him hear the end of it.

“Who doesn’t fit?” Bones quipped, glancing smugly at Jim’s chest. Sure, his shirt was a little tighter than Bones’, but it wasn’t like he didn’t have a bangin’ set of pecs to show off. Spock looked great, of course. Vulcans tended to wear flowy, concealing blanket clothes, but seeing Spock in uniform always made him wonder if they _all_ looked like Eastern-New-European supermodels underneath all that cloth.

“Captain,” Spock said, gazing at Jim in a way that made him feel caught. “Your gloves.”

“Right.” The cotton pulled warmly over his shamefully nude hands, and he nodded to the transporter chief. “Energize.”

The room they beamed into was warm. Large windows revealing a dark night and thick flakes of lilac-colored snow billowing in a strong wind. A group of men that all looked very much like Jorah awaited them, shaking their heads.

“Judges,” Jim said, remembering the etiquette for face-to-face meetings and pointing out each of his group as he introduced them by rank and name. When he finished, Jorah stepped forward and did the same.

They were led down a towering hall, lined on each side by more windows. Jim examined every inch of hilly land that was revealed, feeling the slightest pang of homesickness. The coloring was all wrong, but the elegant, snow-topped buildings could have belonged in Vermont or New Hampshire.

They seemed to be the last ones there, a timing orchestrated by the Kostolairian Judges that meant they were the guests of highest honor. Jim spotted the Vulcans first, mingling with the Tellarites. The Orions were two males and two females, all looking strange in the über-conservative white tunics.

“The Converging will begin in exactly ten minutes,” Jorah told them, gloved hands clasped at his stomach. “This is a time for light conversation.”

“Of course,” Jim answered, smiling. “Thank you, Judge.”

Jorah drifted off, and Bones shifted uncomfortably, looking at the Orions. “I hope they’re on pheromone suppressants.”

“They must be,” Uhura said with a wry smile. “I’d already have a headache if they weren’t.”

“Yeah, don’t worry, Bones,” Jim grinned, nudging him with his shoulder. “We can always take our next shore leave on their home planet. Gaila once told me about these dance clubs – “

“You wouldn’t last ten minutes,” Uhura challenged. Then she looked to Spock, and Jim followed her gaze, waiting for his input. Vulcans were immune to Orion pheromones, but they could still smell them with their superior senses.

But Spock didn’t seem to be paying attention. His back was ramrod straight, gaze focused on the group of Tellarites and Vulcans. One of the female Vulcans had broken away from the rest and now walked over to them.

She was shorter than even Uhura, with straight black hair cut in a severe bob over her shoulders. Her eyes were dark, more black than brown. And, of course, her face was completely blank. One gloved hand appeared from beneath a draping black shawl, fingers spread. Jim held up a ta’al in return, along with Spock. He just caught Uhura helping Bones with his before they both joined in.

“Captain Kirk,” she intoned. It was the first time he’d heard a Vulcan have an accent. It was strange, like Terran-Norway. “It is an honor. I am T’Maya.”

“Don’t mention it.” He introduced everyone, noticing with no small amount of chagrin when her eyes locked on one in particular.

“Spohk,” her voice went marginally less flat. “Your reputation precedes you. I have been working directly on your findings with the _kitek_ code.”

Spock nodded. “I was aware. It is a fortuitous meeting.”

Jim had to force the tension out of his shoulders. He was waiting for the other shoe to drop, for her to say something veiled and nasty, like all the other Vulcans seemed to constantly be doing. Spock would probably rather die than admit it, but it _had_ to hurt.

“Fortune is not a factor,” she corrected, and Jim might have imagined the slight twitch of the fingers clasped behind Spock’s back. “I recommended the _Enterprise_ for this trial.”

“What?” Jim burst out before thinking. “Why?”

T”Maya’s eyes didn’t waver from Spock. She said something in Vulcan, and Spock’s fingers _definitely_ twitched. He answered quickly, in a jumble of unfortunately sexy rasps and glottal stops. Jim heard Uhura’s name.

T’Maya looked surprised – or something close – and turned to Uhura, holding up the ta’al briefly and seeming to inquire about something. Uhura's answer sounded good. At least, T’Maya’s face wasn’t totally hostile.

Then she did something that almost made Jim’s eyes bug right out of his skull. In a smooth movement, she planted herself so that her back was to the Judges waiting at the table, and slipped off her glove.

In the face of the potential diplomatic crisis, Spock only raised an eyebrow. T’Maya held up a discreet ta’al, and then did something Jim hadn’t seen before. She extended it forward, holding it halfway between her body and Spock’s.

“That’s –“ Jim started, but his protest became little more than a choking noise as Spock took his own glove off, mirroring her movement until their palms were pressed together. For a long, wrenching second, Jim could only stare. Her hand was a lot smaller than Spock’s long, bony, _perfect_ one.

A quick, nervous look around told him that no one was looking – even though this was every bit as nuts as Spock stripping naked and pole-dancing. Bones looked disgusted, and Uhura was looking at Jim with wide eyes. He made a face that he hoped conveyed his utter confusion. She nodded back, stricken.

Spock finally pulled his hand back and slid the glove on. T’Maya’s expression hadn’t changed, but her shoulders were slightly more relaxed now. She turned her blank gaze to Jim.

“To answer your query, Captain, I submitted the recommendation with the admitted hopes of meeting Spohk.” He didn’t like the way she dropped the _commander_. It had taken him forever to get to a first name basis with Spock. He also didn’t like her funny little way of pronouncing it. “An intrusion I would not have committed previously. The universe has never been so small for the Vulcan race. We can no longer afford to ignore one another.”

Spock’s eyebrow lifted, and he exuded a quiet sense of relief that no one but Jim would notice. “Logical.”

Jim failed to see the logic in anything right then, but before he could speak Jorah called the room to attention. They sat in order of rank, with Jim next to the most junior-level Judge, and Spock, Bones, and Uhura to his right. Directly across from them sat the Vulcan representatives. T’Maya was across from Jim, confirming that she was the Vulcan equivalent to captain.

It was silent while hooded figures served the food. Everything was either pale yellow or deep lilac. Not a good color for meat, but he’d tried a replicated version of it the night before, so he could mask his disgust. He chatted with the judge next to him about the Betazed mission while making eyes at the brunette Orion across from Uhura. She blushed deep green and looked down – a completely false show of modesty.

It would be unprofessional to mess around while on a mission, but he would only be adhering to Orion custom, right? They treated sex like most Humans treated a handshake.

“Your emotion is showing, Captain,” Spock said in a very low voice, cutting his steak into small pieces. Jim glanced down at his crotch without thinking, then glared at Spock, whose mouth twitched just slightly.

“You’re one to talk,” he said more snappishly than absolutely necessary. Spock took a bite and turned to start up a conversation with Bones. Jim bristled at the obvious slight, hoping against hope that Spock _would_ choke.

After the last course – a watery flan that tasted more like cough syrup than sugar – half of their delegation left. Uhura gave Jim’s hand a little squeeze of assurance that he didn’t know how to interpret. He just smiled back and watched her and Bones leave the way they came. Spock walked beside him as they followed the Judges to a third location, in the same sprawling building.

The Convening room looked almost identical to the dining – er, _Converging_ room, only the table was a dark mahogany and shorter. Probably imported from Earth. Jim ran his fingertips across the edge, finding the grain as he sat. It comforted him almost as much as the exceedingly comfortable chair.

Jorah took his place at the head, and after a moment of everyone situating themselves, gestured to the PADDs provided to each person. Jim touched his finger to the glass, and it lit up with a copy of the agenda.

“The first item on the agenda is a review of the facts.” Jorah’s voice boomed in the cavernous room. “I move for a fifteen minute interval allowing all attendees to familiarize themselves.”

“Seconded,” came the gravelly boom of the Tellarite captain. Jim could hear the anticipation in his voice, and couldn’t help but start to feel a little excited in spite of himself. Tellarites _loved_ arguing – it was a sport to them. Jim had tried to get a friendly debate going with one of the Tellarites on the engineering crew back on board, but no one really wanted to get into it with the captain. Spock and Bones excluded, of course. This could be a fun chance to get some of that out of his system.

Only that wasn’t really what they were there to do. P&P wasn’t about arguments – precisely why he’d done so poorly back at the Academy.

“The motion has been seconded. Any opposed?”

Silence. Jorah spread his hands, and Jim pulled his PADD forward to start scrolling through the official-looking document. He was immediately engrossed, only slightly aware of Spock moving through the words at twice his speed.

A week before, an unnamed Ferengi ship had been apprehended by an Andorian freight carrier just inside Federation space. The Andorian ship, called the _Qui’i_ , had received a distress signal from the Ferengi ship that was immediately cut short. They hailed them out of concern.

The Ferengis insisted that the distress signal was a mistake, but the Andorian captain insisted on boarding and beginning an inspection. That’s when the situation turned hostile, and the _Qui’i_ had to use her superior tech to disable the Ferengi ship.

Jim’s first thought was that the Andorian ship had no authority to apprehend the Ferengis at all, but the report addressed that next. The Ferengis had reported their desination to be Iyaarran space.

That, coupled with the fact that their entire cargo hold was full of captive Ferengi women, gave Jim a pretty good idea of what was going on. On a hunch, he pulled up a map that confirmed his theory. Spock was doing the same, and that made Jim feel a little better. He guessed fifteen minutes had passed when Jorah stood and cleared his throat.

“The second item on the agenda is the designation of fault. I propose a motion of discussion.”

“Second,” Jim said.

“All in favor?”

“Aye,” came the chorus. Spock’s voice so close to Jim’s ear was deep and reassuring.

“The motion passes. We will open discussion.”

Jim got to his feet. Only one person could speak at a time, and the order followed rank. The four captains could go first, then their First Officers.

“If the Ferengi ship was engaged in slave trade, which, knowing Ferengi culture, is entirely possible, then the _Qui’i_ had every right to make the arrest. As a Federation planet, Andor and her people are authorized under Federation General Order 57 to intercede in any Type-A offenses.”

He paused and gathered his thoughts while every eye in the room bored into him. “The report hits all the relevant points, and I assume it was filed correctly with Federation officials, or that fact would be mentioned in the case file. I can’t see any way they’d be implicated by their actions.”

The Tellarite First Officer nodded thoughtfully. The Orion Captain crossed her arms. T’Maya’s face was, of course, completely empty. But she stood the moment Jim sat down, waiting for a recognition from Jorah before speaking.

“A logical point, Captain,” she conceded in cool tones. Jim wasn’t fooled. “It is unfortunate that the foundation was left vacuous.”

He narrowed his eyes.

“The assumption that the Ferengi ship was engaged in slave trade is based on nothing more than conjecture. There is nothing to conclusively indicate this claim, and, furthermore, what is _known_ about Ferengi culture, Captain, is the fact that the females of the species are not afforded civil rights or liberties. They are considered property. Federation General Order 108a classifies extraplanetary crafts not funded by Federation grants as an extension of the planet from which they hail. The fact that the females were in the cargo hold aligns with the general practices of the home planet.

“The _Qui’i,_ however, is Andorian cruiser-class, and therefore subject to all Federation General Orders. It was a direct violation of General Order 1, colloquially referred to as Prime Directive, to interfere in Ferengi business without proof that any Type-A offense had taken place.”

A knee nudged his under the table. Spock look pointedly at his hands, and only then did Jim realize that his fingers were digging into the arms, the tension making the muscles in his arms strain against his shirt. He folded them in his lap with some difficulty, hating that he couldn’t interrupt.

Of _course_ he knew General Order 108a. And ‘circumstantial’ wasn’t exactly how he would have described their location. A Ferengi ship shouldn’t be anywhere past the Zalkon quadrant, much less on the edge of Federation Space. There was a zero-to-none chance they were going anywhere other than Tagus III, a gas planet whose airspace was continually busted for slave ship rendezvous.

Thankfully, the Tellarite Captain said exactly that, pointing out the presence of a distress signal and the onus of the _Qui’i_ to respond and investigate. And yet both he and the Orion Captain sided with T’Maya about the Prime Directive. Jim tried to contain himself, growing increasingly agitated at the gaping hole in their logic.

Finally, Spock stood. Tall and imposing, so sure of himself always that Jim found himself calming down just by looking at him. Spock was always two steps ahead of him – he’d point it out. Surely.

“Commander Spock.”

“It has yet to be pointed out that the Ferengi ship is an outdated model, and it is entirely within the realm of possibility that the distress call was, as they claimed, nothing more than a quickly remedied glitch.”

He sat down. Jim thought he might have a coronary. That was _it?_

“Thank you, all, for your input.” Jorah ticked something off on his PADD when everyone had spoken. “Is there anything before we vote?”

Jim wished he didn’t have the stupid gloves on. He needed the pain of his nails digging into his skin to ground him. Thinking back over the rules, he raised a hand. “I move for a Subsidiary Motion, to extend the limits of debate.”

Silence.

“Is there a second?” Jorah asked, looking around. Jim resolutely did not look to his silent First Officer. “Alright. We will now take a vote. All those in favor of assigning guilt to the Andorian ship?”

“Aye,” said T’Maya, her First, Spock, and both Orion representatives. Jim and the rest said ‘No’.

“The motion is carried; therefore, for the purposes of the Convening, guilt has been assigned to the _Qui’i._ ”

__________

It was a grueling three hours, to say the least. They went through the entire case, piece by piece. They even went so far as assigning punishment to the Andorians, and even though Jim _knew_ it wasn’t the actual trial, and what was said in the Convening wasn’t final, he was starting to seriously hate T’Maya. No matter what he said, she seemed to have a response ready that all but completely disproved what he was trying to say.

Finally, just when Jim was starting to contemplate bashing his head into the table, it was over. They ended just before the three-hour cutoff, so there was no need to continue the next day. Jim wasn’t as happy about that as he thought he would be. And because he knew how good Vulcan hearing was, he had to keep his mouth shut as they ambled back to the beam-up point.

After exchanging farewells, he commed up to Ensign Riehmu for a beam-up. The second they reassembled on the pad, he turned to Spock.

“What – ?“

“Captain.” Spock cut him off firmly. His eyes were downcast, darting side to side like he was thinking hard about something. It was so unlike the blank face of two seconds ago that Jim fell quiet, curious. “I have been invited to dine upon the Vulcan ship tonight.”

Jim scoffed. “When the hell did that happen?” He hadn’t seen them talk to each other at all since Spock and T’Maya’s little face-sucking episode.

“I believe it may be prudent to accept this offer, so that I may sooner return.”

It wasn’t an answer, but Jim nodded and bit back everything he had to say. Spock was technically asking for permission, and Jim could technically say no, but that would be insane.

“Sure.” He raked a hand through his hair. “Go ahead. We’ll be in orbit until morning, anyway.”

Spock bowed his head and strode off, presumably to change into his usual blue Science uniform. Jim turned and walked the opposite direction, catching a turbo up to deck seven. Sick Bay was empty, so that was reassuring. He’d go down and check on Scotty’s progress later.

It was…surprising, to say the least, that Uhura was there when he entered Bones’ office. He’d never seen the two of them hanging out before, but there she was, sitting in Jim’s usual seat with a whiskey glass.

“Am I interrupting?” He asked.

Uhura rolled her eyes, but Bones suddenly wouldn’t meet Jim’s gaze. “C’mon, sit,” he grumbled, pointing to the other chair. “You look ‘bout ready to fall over.”

Jim took a glass of whiskey and observed the scene in front of him. Uhura looked completely relaxed, long legs crossed and extended. Bones, not so much. It had also fallen conspicuously silent when Jim walked in. And they were both still in formals, which meant they came right here after lunch and hadn’t left.

_Interesting._

“Spock around?” Uhura asked lightly, tipping her head to the side.

“No.” Jim forced the whisky down, empty stomach complaining. “I daresay he’s on a date.”

In hindsight, it was an overly-insensitive thing to say to Uhura, but she just nodded like it confirmed something.

“What?”

“We’ve been tryin’ to figure that out,” Bones said, refilling all three of their glasses. “Just what the hell happened earlier. I oughta’ pass the dermal regenerator over my eyes.”

“Since Vulcans are so… extremely private, it’s hard to know a lot about their culture.” Uhura said slowly. Jim snorted. “Yeah, not news to anyone here. I’ve never seen that hand movement before. I think T’Maya had to tell him something she didn’t want me to hear. They don’t _love_ when outworlders speak the language.”

“What could she possibly have to say? They’d never met before!”

“Who knows?” Uhura shrugged, and Jim knew there was something she wasn’t telling him. His instincts were pretty good about that kind of thing, but if she didn’t want to tell, she wouldn’t. And he sure as hell wasn’t gonna charm it out of her, so instead he launched into a recap of the Convening, making sure to include how frustrating T’Maya was.

“So, basically, we voted against punishing the Ferengi. And Spock did nothing.”

“So that’s why he ran off-ship,” Bones surmised over his glass. “He could tell you were pissed and he’d rather go rub hands than deal with your ass.”

“But you…I’m sorry, Captain,” Uhura shook her head. “I tried reading the full report but it didn’t make much sense. You weren’t the _actual_ jury, right?”

“Call me Jim, while we’re trash-talking my First Officer. And no. No, the Convening is only half of it. They’ll bring in others for the real trial. They call it the Culmination.”

“So why…?” She trailed off, taking a dainty sip.

“It’s just the Federation wanting Starfleet input on cases they don’t bother bringing to a higher court.”

“Hm.”

Quiet fell like a heavy sheet. Jim looked between them suspiciously. Bones still wasn’t meeting his eyes. He got the message, loud and clear – and suddenly liked Uhura a lot more than he had that morning.

“I guess I’ll go start on the paperwork. And maybe eat something greasy and American.”

“No red meat,” Bones snapped. “And don’t bother trying to hack past my orders on your card, or I’ll code everything to taste like beets.”

“I’m shaking in my boots,” Jim stood, rolling his eyes. He called over his shoulder: “See ya, Bones. Uhura.”

“Call me Nyota,” she said, catching his attention.

“Oh.” Jim tried to hide honest delight. “You’re finally giving me permission?”

She smiled. “I guess I am.”

____________

“Sure you can handle it, Captain?” Scotty drawled, reaching up for a wrench. Jim handed it down, turning back to the nacelle panel he was working on. “Wouldn’t want to dirty up those pretty Command hands o’yours.”

“Just focus on your own hands, Scott,” Jim grunted, yanking aside the outer hatch to peer in at the wires. "Mine are very capable and manly."

“What’s that? I cannae hear ye over yer gaspin’.”

“Maybe that’s because you’ve got me hanging upside down from the goddamn rafters!”

Scotty laughed. “Keenser offered to do it.”

“Keenser was dead on his feet. And you are, too.” Jim set his screwdriver between his teeth to reach in and type a diagnostic code. Their voices echoed off of the empty Warp Drive walls. Their work was just preliminary while everyone else was up in Main Engineering making sure they could make it to Starbase 74 without Warp if necessary.

“So why didn’t you send me off?” Scotty asked a second later.

“Keenser doesn’t like me. Figured I save him the awkward small talk.”

“Ach, he likes you fine.”

“Really?” Jim relaxed in the engineering harness, letting his head loll back so he could watch Scotty rewiring the coolant regulator. “He never laughs at my jokes.”

“Aye,” Scotty said cryptically, and left it at that.

“Alright. I can’t see anything wrong with the diagnostics, but that could be computer error.”

“May be…I’ll have to get in there and look for me self.”

Jim took in the deep circles under Scotty’s eyes. It was late, and if they hadn’t found the problem yet he doubted they would tonight. Worst case was them traveling to the Starbase without warp. It wasn’t far. Only about a week at top speed.

“Just…get some sleep, Scotty. It’ll still be here tomorrow.”

“Is that an order?”

Jim listened to Scotty bolt his panel shut, reaching his arm down to take the wrench back. “Does it need to be? Something tells me you’ll pass out soon either way.”

“I jus’ might. Join me for a nightcap?”

Jim started bolting, grinning. “Why Scotty, how forward of you. Treat all your captains this way?”

“I take it the condition of the Warp Core has not improved?”

Jim flinched as Spock’s voice rang through the chamber, and the wrench slipped out of his grasp and slammed into his chin before falling. He didn’t hear it hit the ground.

“Commander!” Scotty called in delight. “Could use a bit ‘o that Vulcan problem solving up here. The computer’s still going haywire, can’t seem to pinpoint anything specific.”

Rubbing his jaw, Jim hung back to see Spock’s upside-down figure standing at the terminal and bringing up the Core diagram. He was still in his dress blues, the wrench hanging from one hand.

“You’re just now getting back?”

“Indeed, Lieutenant,” Spock addressed Scotty. Jim sagged, ignored. “The malfunction is in the hardware, or a gas agent has been released. If it is the latter, the computer would recognize a foreign substance and mark it as an error.”

“We’ll have a hell of a time isolatin’ the source, if that’s the case.”

“I can attempt to code a control. If the schedule for a morning departure remains, Captain, I am able to work through the night to find a solution.”

“Oh, good, you remembered I’m here.”

Spock looked up balefully. “I was never unaware of your presence. That would be quite impossible.”

Jim jerked himself around in a feeble attempt to be able to look at Spock without blood rushing to his head. He really just ended up swinging back and forth a little, the harness cutting into his balls uncomfortably. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Alright, girls, that’s enough.” Scotty said hurriedly. “I think I migh’ just head to bed after all. Commander, you mind lettin’ us down?”

Spock pressed something on the terminal, and the harnesses started to descend with a jolt that had Jim clenching his teeth in pain. He had to swing himself so he landed on his feet instead of his ass, managing it but looking much less graceful than Scotty. He shrugged off their harnesses and waved good night to Scotty, who seemed eager to escape the brewing fight.

Spock dropped the wrench into Scotty’s tool chest, then quirked an eyebrow when he saw Jim watching him.

“The schedule, Captain?”

Jim scrubbed the sweat from his forehead and stretched his arms. “No reason not to leave in the morning. Don’t bother working through the night, though. We’ll start out, and if we fix Warp before we get there, then that’s that. We’ll stop at Starbase either way.”

“Starbase 74 is three hundred and six point one light-years away.” He fell into step beside Jim as they walked toward the turbolifts. “A journey of that length – “

“A week. I know. Already cleared it with Klintok.”

“I see,” he mused. Jim pressed for Deck Five vindictively. It wasn’t often that Spock was last to know about something like that, but he’d been out all night on the other ship.

“Well?” Jim asked, staring at the door. “How was it?”

“’It’, Captain?”

“T’Maya,” Jim hedged, glancing over to check for a reaction. “Let me guess; you lit a candle, poured some wine, talked about how great slavery is – “

The emergency stop was slammed. Jim stumbled at the sudden halt of momentum.

“Elaborate,” Spock said tersely, glaring.

“On which part?” Jim leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms. A little spark of excitement made his heart speed up – he’d been preparing for this fight all day. “You do know what wine is, right? Like grape juice for adults.”

“You are making veiled allusions to my vote. Why?”

“Oh _come on_ , Spock! You should have backed me up in there! You know as well as I do that the Prime Directive shit doesn’t hold up when interplanetary commerce is involved!”

Spock’s eyebrows pulled together sharply. “I believe the existence of any commerce was definitively disproven.”

“Circumstantial evidence is still _evidence_. They were headed _straight_ to Tagus III with women in the goddamn _cargo_ hold!”

“Not women, Captain. Females of the Ferengi race.” Spock’s jaw was tight, and he had turned to face Jim completely. “Ascribing Terran culture and values to an alien race is a material fallacy, and the entire reason for the conception of the Prime Directive.”

Jim’s hands balled into fists. He stepped forward, hating that Spock was just _that_ much taller than him that he had to look up.

“Human or not, Spock, that distress signal wasn’t a fucking _glitch_. What do you think will happen to the ‘female’ that broke free and sent it? If the Ferengi crew walk, she’s _dead_.”

Spock’s eyes softened abruptly, and a small part of Jim was disappointed to see the fight go out of him like that.

“Jim,” he said, and then paused. “What we took part in today is not meant to hold jurisprudential weight. It is an intellectual exercise, nothing more.”

“We _influenced_ those judges, Spock!” Jim gave an exasperated sigh and reached past Spock to un-stop the elevator. “I bet you had a blast in there,” he added in a low mutter.

“I do not understand.”

Jim stepped out as the doors opened. “Watching T’Maya tear me apart like that.”

“It was not her intention to elicit an emotional response from you, Captain.”

“Oh, yeah? How do you know?”

“It would be an illogical motivation on her part. Furthermore, we engaged in a mind meld while aboard her ship – “

“You _what?”_ Jim almost yelled, stopping in the middle of the hall.

“A mind meld, Captain,” Spock repeated, taking that tone that meant Jim was being particularly dense about something.

Jim snapped his gaping mouth closed, needing to compensate for the sudden empty feeling in his chest. “Well, I sure hope you used protection.”

Spock’s black glare pinned him in place, the joke falling flat between them. “If you are taking offense at her ability to combat a poorly structured argument, I must say it does not come as a surprise.”

Jim rolled his eyes.

“What is far more likely is regret for lack of preparation, as you should have known in advance that the first speaker is at a distinct disadvantage.”

“I prepared fine, you asshole,” Jim snapped. “P&P isn’t supposed to _be_ argumentative. Though I can see why a Vulcan would make it one.”

“Resorting to name-calling will not render my point any less salient.”

“Fine. Have it your way. Intellectual exercise.”

He stepped around Spock and continued toward his quarters, catching just a hint of confusion on the blank, stupidly attractive face. Jim didn’t hear him following, but just as he reached his door he felt a presence at his back.

“Jim,” Spock said, very quiet. Jim spun, pressing his back to the door to escape the sudden proximity. “If this or any other Starfleet ship encountered similar circumstances, the arrest would have been made, and it is unlikely that such an action would have come to trial. Because Starfleet – for all its faults – is a force for good, and if I did not believe in the mission wholeheartedly I would not have left behind everything I have ever known to follow it. If you truly believe us to be so morally misaligned, I must…” He stopped and looked down at his feet. “I must apologize for leading you to such a conclusion.”

There was something so open and pained in his voice that Jim almost forgot himself completely and _hugged_ the guy.

“Fuck, Spock. I know all that.” He found himself leaning forward. Because suddenly, Spock’s height wasn’t so off putting. Huh. “I didn’t mean – I wasn’t _actually_ accusing you of – “

“That,” Spock said shortly, stepping back. “Is a relief.”

The space between them was suddenly full of… _something_. Jim didn’t even know what to call it. Like an invisible hand, pushing him forward. But Spock looked normal again, all straight-backed and blank. Just Jim's imagination, then.

“Goodnight, Jim,” Spock said finally, when Jim was still standing there in shock. He turned on his heel and went into his room without another word, and it took several seconds for Jim to remember how to do the same.


	2. Crossword

“Scott! Spock!” Jim stuck his head into Scotty’s office, finding the two of them hunched over his terminal. Spock was seated, fingers flying across the keypad. “Didn’t you two get my message?”

They’d left Kostolairian orbit two days ago, and while the general mood of the ship seemed to be content, and Spock didn’t show any signs of stress, Scotty was only getting worse. Jim heard through the grapevine that he’d actually screamed an Ensign to near tears for opening a nacelle too quickly and singeing their face and arms. Jim just visited Sickbay, but Nurse Chapel had already turned the guy out. No harm done.

“Jim, we’re on the verge of a breakthrough, here. It’ll never get fixed if we’re watchin’ holovids all night.”

His voice was tight, like he would rather throw Jim out of his office than talk to him. Jim leaned against the doorjamb, unfazed. “I think if Mr. Spock could find the problem, he would have done it by now.”

Spock’s eyes flicked to him, irritated. “Patience is a virtue, Captain. Even if it is one you are not intimately acquainted with.”

Jim felt himself blush at the thought of _Spock_ and _intimate._ “So you do understand idiom. Can you do what you’re doing on a PADD?”

“Ach, Jim – !” Scotty started.

“I will attempt to do so,” Spock interrupted, sitting back. “If you will cease your prodding.”

Scotty rubbed his jaw tiredly. Jim clapped his hands together. “Excellent! Rec Room 8 in ten minutes.”

__________

The _Frontiers_ trilogy, in simple terms, _kicked ass._ It was old New Hollywood – back when they still used digital cameras and terrible practical effects. But a classic nonetheless.

“ _First Officer Ruiz_ ,” the on-screen Captain snapped, shaking long brown hair out of his face. “ _Situation report_.”

“ _Captain_ ,” she gasped dramatically. “ _The Vulcans have us surrounded._ ”

“ _Shoot everything we have –_ now!”

“ _Give me a minute!”_

Bones cheered from the next seat over, leaning up from the recliner to pump his fist. “You show those hobgoblin bastards!”

Jim shook his head, shoving more popcorn in his mouth and grinning when the movie’s ship rocked and the First Officer fell across the Captain’s lap, her skirt riding up as he grasped her in surprise.

“Yeah, right,” Uhura scoffed. “That v-neck is _not_ regulation.”

Sulu threw an un-popped kernel at her. “Respect history.”

“It’s not history! We never dressed like that!”

“Quiet, quiet!” Chekov hissed, sitting forward. “This is best part!”

On screen, the Vulcans hailed the _U.S.S. Frontier_ , three of them appearing on the primitive viewscreen.

 _“Captain,”_ the most prominent one stated. Jim and the others cackled at the green makeup on the human actors. _“We come in peace.”_

“Look, Spock, it’s you!” Bones called, turning to grin at the figure sitting in the back of the room still absorbed in his PADD. Jim turned, looking over Scotty, who’d fallen deeply asleep the second the lights went out.

Spock looked up at the movie, a strange expression crossing his face. Jim glanced at the screen and balked. It had cut away from the Vulcans and now showed the Captain and First, still wrapped up in each other as he valiantly threatened the Vulcans for killing his daughter. No one else seemed to notice. Bones had already turned back, not expecting Spock to give an answer anyway. Jim sank as low as he could in his recliner. Surely Spock knew _that_ wasn’t what Bones was referring to.

“ _This is a fight you can’t win, Captain,”_ the movie-Vulcan said. Which just made it all the more unbelievable – Vulcans didn’t use contractions on pain of death.

 _“Maybe we can,”_ the helmsman shouted. He swiveled in his chair, the camera zooming in close. _“We have Warp.”_

“ _Arm it. Arm everything.”_

“Yeah,” Sulu snorted. “Because that’s how it works.”

Uhura – Nyota, Jim reminded himself – stood up and collected his and Bones’ glasses for a refill of whisky. He’d much rather let loose with some Romulan ale he had hidden in his closet, but that could wait for safe dock at the Starbase.

“ _And we_ will _win, Snor,_ ” the Captain addressed the Vulcan. Jim shot up, pointing one finger up at the ceiling in triumph as he voiced the words along with the holovid.

“Because we are Starfleet, and winning is what we _do!”_

Spock looked up as he reached a shout, lifting one eyebrow. Jim winked back before collapsing back into the chair as the final battle started. Sulu and Chekov took turns pointing out the engineering flaws, and Bones and Nyota got caught up in some argument about the merits of modern holovid makeup. Jim wouldn’t have pegged her for a film geek. That was one thing Jim could never talk to Bones about – it was _boring_. If Nyota could keep up, though, Jim might have some serious competition in the best friend department.

But as her hair swayed over her shoulder and she gestured with her hands to make a point, and Bones’ whisky sat forgotten on the table, Jim started to think maybe he didn’t have a chance.

He glanced back at Spock every now and then. Only once did he catch him watching the movie unprompted, and it was to frown at the Vulcan actors. He wished Spock liked movies. Maybe if he picked out a very good one…

They were halfway through the second movie when Jim started to drop off. He was fifth-wheeling a little, sitting too far from Chekov and Sulu to join in. But that was alright. They were his crew – his friends. He let their calm, happy energy wash over him as he drifted off.

It felt like seconds later, but when he opened his eyes the room was completely silent. Scotty still snored intermittently, but the four chairs next to his were vacant. Only the near-silent tapping of fingers against glass warned him of Spock’s presence before he could let out an ear-splitting belch.

Holding it back, he rolled to his side, watching Spock’s profile for a moment. With no one around to see, his shoulders had slumped slightly and he stared down at the screen in obvious consternation. It was…cute. There really wasn’t another word for it. His eyebrows were scrunched low over his eyes, and the movement of his fingers was decidedly sharp and frustrated.

“Everyone leave?”

The expression cleared away instantaneously as Spock looked up. It would almost pass for surprise if Jim didn’t know better. “Hardly a statement worthy of response.”

Jim huffed a laugh, stretching and sitting up. “They could have woken me up.”

“There was some discussion, but it was decided against after Nyota compared your sleeping visage to that of an infant.”

Jim blinked. He was pretty sure he did _not_ look like a baby when he slept, if the copious amounts of drool on his pillow every morning was any indicator. “What time is it?”

“0200 hours, Captain.”

So Nyota got a first name today, but not Jim. Something at the base of Jim’s stomach – something he’d been working very hard to ignore – stirred in reproach. He moved to sit in Uhura’s abandoned chair, turning it around so he and Spock were almost knee-to-knee.

“Whatcha got?”

Spock hesitated before handing the PADD over. Jim looked down at the lines of numbers that swam at first but slowly aligned into a language he understood.

“You’re analyzing it set by set,” he said in awe. It would have taken him weeks to write something like this. "Every component."

“I am attempting to find and identify errors. So far, they all appear erroneous. It was faster and safer to complete a full system reset before taking apart the Warp Drive manually.”

“Still, this is…” Jim scrolled up at the history of equations and complicated code, blinking wide. “Unnecessary. Starbase will do it, anyway.”

Spock took the PADD back gently, swiping it shut and setting it to the side. “I have found the challenge to be stimulating.”

“Stimulating?” Jim said thoughtfully, then smiled. “You mean you’re having _fun_.”

Spock’s eyes narrowed, but the corner of his mouth tilted up a millimeter or two. “You twist my meaning, Captain.”

“Sure,” he snorted. “Well, you don’t have to wait for another ship malfunction – I have an old crossword book in my room you can have. Never did figure out ‘slum building’, eight letters.”

“I have seen such games in passing, but never found the idea worth exploring.” Spock tilted his head to the side, pressing his lips together like he didn’t want to say it. “Though I believe the word you are looking for is ‘tenement’.”

“See? You’re a master already.”

Spock’s mouth twitched again. “You are mocking me.”

“I would _never_ ,” Jim grinned. Then he got an idea. “Say, Spock, you ever heard of _Murder on the Orient Express_?”

“I have not.”

Jim leaned forward, excitement buzzing. “Great. We’re watching it tomorrow. Right here.”

Spock’s eyes went from amused to wary. “It is not the most productive use of time.”

“It’s two hours of mindless entertainment, Spock. Clock it as meditation.” He waved away the next argument. “Don’t come if you don’t want to. I’ll understand.”

Spock looked at him for a long time, eyes dark and inviting. That same thing from the night of the Convening happened again, where the space between them turned thick and soupy. It would be a lie to say Jim hadn’t been thinking about it, or that he wasn’t eager to experience it again. A stupid, stupid indulgence he kept allowing himself on possibly the most ill-advised crush of his entire life. And the list was _long_.

The ghost of a mood dissipated as Scotty snored so loud the bridge probably heard it. Spock quirked an eyebrow at their sleeping friend.

“I’d better drag him to bed,” Jim yawned. “And you should get some sleep, too. I know socializing tires you out.”

They stood at the same time, which put their chests less than six inches apart. Jim drug his eyes up a long, pale throat and gently sloping jawline before meeting Spock’s serious gaze.

“That depends entirely upon the company.”

As usual, after Spock was gone, Jim wasn’t entirely sure if he’d been complimented or insulted.

“C’mon, you old drunk,” he said, kicking Scotty’s chair.

____________

He dreamed that night. Uncomfortably specific, uncomfortably _naked_ dreams that involved him and a certain pointy-eared Commander. Dreams that Bones would wholeheartedly disapprove of – would maybe even kick him off duty for having.

The ambient lights were still totally dark when he snapped awake. He knew without looking that it was before 0600, and normally he would shut his eyes and force himself back to sleep, but something was _wrong_.

And the problem stood in the corner. And just like before, Jim froze.

“Computer, lights on.”

The lights snapped on, and what was only a creeping confusion ballooned into full on terror. It choked his throat and sent his heart into fits as the _thing_ smiled at him. A wide, black grin and watery bloodshot eyes.

“No,” Jim whispered, blinking sudden, hot wetness out of his eyes.

And when he opened them again, it was gone. No – it couldn’t be gone because it was never _there_. He scrubbed the tears from his eyes and took deep breaths. Another…nightmare? His body just seemed to be having a hard time believing that it wasn’t real. It had _smiled_ at him… Just like when he was a kid. Why would he see it _now_? After all this time?

Jesus, this was the kind of thing that could lose him his ship. Starfleet Captains didn’t _have_ giant baby meltdowns every time they had a scary dream. He was supposed to be a _man_ , damn it, and even if that kind of thinking was ancient and toxic, it just didn’t bode well for him to be sniffling alone in bed. Ever.

“Don’t be a fucking moron,” he told himself sternly. Then he got up and took a shower, aching for more sleep but too keyed up to even think about it. He replicated some coffee and sat at his desk, pulling up his pile of paperwork and sorting through what needed to be done first.

Only to spit out coffee all over himself after the first sip. _Beets._ With a barely contained shout of rage, he redressed and went to the dining area to find Bones and steal his coffee.

____________

“Scotty,” Jim asked offhandedly, looking down from the overpass at a group of engineers scanning the inside of the deactivated Warp Core. “Do you believe in ghosts?”

It had been stuck in his head all day, and he figured maybe if he talked about it he’d have a chance at a decent night’s sleep again. It had to be someone more superstitious than Bones, and obviously he wouldn’t say a word to Spock.

“Aye,” Scotty said without a moment’s hesitation, leaning over the balcony and looking grave. “Any man with a solid head on his shoulders’d do the same.”

It was a warmer response than Jim had expected. “You’ve seen one?”

Scotty nodded. It was relieving – no one was looking at him like he was crazy. Yet.

“I started at the ‘Fleet in Paris. We were out one night – late, celebratin’ the end of the year – and I popped to the loo. It was dark, an’ I was right pissed. Didn’ understand at first.”

“Understand what?” Jim asked, uneasy.

“What me mother’d be doin’ in a men’s loo in Paris.” He glanced over and smirked at the look on Jim’s face. “She didn’ say a word. Just looked at me, all sad-like. Then she was gone. I called me da’ right away. I jus’ knew…” he shook his head. “She’d passed. Heart attack.”

“I’m so sorry,” Jim managed. Scotty shrugged. “I – how did you – “

“It was her,” he said firmly. “Know it as I know me own name.”

They were silent as Jim gathered his thoughts. Scotty called down a few instructions to some Ensigns.

“What about…” Jim winced as the words left his mouth. “What about monsters?”

Scotty raised his eyebrows. “In a metaphorical sense, Captain?”

“No,” Jim chuckled uncomfortably. “A literal one. A…a horror movie one. On the ship, even.”

“Aye?”

“I…it’s a long story.”

He’d obviously piqued Scotty’s interest past the mystery of the Warp Drive, because he turned and set his back against the rail. Jim cleared his throat, looking around to make sure there was no one to overhear.

“So, when I was growing up on the farm…God, Scotty, this sounds so stupid out loud. Just forget I said anything.”

Scotty frowned. “We have superstitions about this sort o’ thing, Jim. You’ve got’a finish what you’ve started.”

Jim blew out a breath, not sure what to do with his hands. “There was…a sc-scarecrow.”

He paused, but Scotty only nodded his encouragement. Jim continued, albeit awkwardly. Nearly two decades had passed since he’d last talked about it.

“It terrified me. Not sure why, but it did. Me and my brother snuck out one night. I was young, maybe eight? We were just messing around trying to hotwire the tractor and go for a joyride. I remember walking past the scarecrow, and seeing it turn its head to watch us.”

He waited, but Scotty kept his face carefully neutral.

“I was inconsolable. Couldn’t sleep alone, couldn’t even go outside until my mom talked me out of it. It was over after that. I haven’t thought about the damned thing in years. But I saw it this morning. And two days ago, I think.” He stared at the far wall, humiliated at the confession.

“You’re sure it wasn’t a dream?”

Jim shook his head. “Not entirely. But I was _awake,_ I mean, I turned the lights on and everything, and it was just looking at me.”

“Could be jus’ the doldrums, Captain. Idle hands, idle mind.”

Jim frowned. “Are you calling me lazy?”

“No’ at all. If ye want, I can ask around, see if anyone else’s seen something. Don’ worry. I won’t tell them it’s our poor Captain who’s seein’ things.”

That made Jim laugh. “No, please. Just thought you might be the only one to listen to me, is all. I feel better already.”

“I always keep a weathered ear out for a good ghost story, Captain.” He clapped Jim on the shoulder. “My couch is always open, if ye find ye cannae sleep alone.”

“Thanks, Scotty. I’ll keep it in mind.”

_____________

1900 hours couldn’t come soon enough. Jim spent all of Alpha shift filing reports, the only distraction showing up in the form of Bones with all his usual complaints; engineers kept burning themselves on the lower decks, and a few were having trouble sleeping. Jim listened closely to that part, but it just seemed to be general insomnia and long hours.

He followed Sulu and Chekov to the Dining Hall, using Sulu’s code to order food since his was still in beet-mode and he – frustratingly – couldn’t seem to find what Bones had done so he could reverse it.

While they were talking, he nearly invited them both to the holovid later. But something held him back. Spock was always fun to be around, but it was even better when they were alone. Like Jim had unlocked some secret, special friendship level that got Spock actually making jokes and facial expressions. Or at least as close to either of those things as Spock ever got.

Sulu talked him into an hour of fencing, which was even more exhausting. But Jim loved physical exertion in any form – it meant clearing his head of the constant buzzing thoughts. Maybe what Scotty had said about the doldrums had stuck, because after a quick shower he felt great. He pulled on a black shirt and grabbed a PADD before heading down to Deck 8.

The rec room they had used the night before was empty, one of the few without windows to achieve real darkness. He pulled his legs up onto a cushioned chair and got some work done. The chances were around fifty-fifty, he guessed, that Spock would show up. He usually spent his free time in the labs, but Engineering might have called on him for more help. Hell, he could be asleep already and Jim wouldn’t be surprised.

Only twenty or so minutes later, though, the door whizzed open. Jim tried to tamp down the excitement in his chest as Spock stepped inside with his hands clasped behind his back. His eyes moved around the room once before landing on Jim.

“Jim.”

“Hey! You came!” Jim sprang up and walked around to the terminal. “Take a seat. Want popcorn?”

Spock sat down. “I do not require sustenance at this time.”

“Yeah,” Jim found the movie in the databanks and sent it to the projector. “They aren’t much for snacks where you’re from, huh?”

“It does seem nonsensical to eat outside of necessity.”

“That’s because Vulcan food tastes like paper.”

“And yet I do not believe the Vulcan race has ever suffered a pandemic of obesity.”

Jim chuckled, turning the lights out and sitting next to Spock. “Fat jokes, huh?”

The holovid started up, showing an unbelievable grainy set of title cards for defunct studios and production companies. Jim tried to get comfortable, but couldn’t with Spock right there, sitting so straight it made Jim’s lumbar twinge in sympathy.

“Dude, you look like you’re about to face a firing squad.” Jim laughed. If it was anyone else, Jim might have reached out to push at his chest playfully to make him sit back. But it was Spock, and Jim couldn’t do that sort of thing to him. “I didn’t want to watch this movie, either, at first. The technology is downright _primitive_. But Bones forced me – kind of like I’m forcing you right now – and I really liked it in the end.”

Spock looked away from the screen to raise his eyebrows. “Our definitions of entertainment rarely intersect, Jim.”

“That’s…fair,” Jim allowed, reclining the chair back and earning a disapproving look. “But you must trust me a little, if you’re here.”

Spock inclined his head. “I do trust you.”

Jim couldn’t stop his grin, even when Spock turned forward to watch the opening credits.

The first act flew by. All the characters were introduced, got on the train, and by the time the murder happened Jim almost couldn’t believe how _uninterested_ he was in the movie. Not a big deal. He’d seen it multiple times.

It was just so much better watching Spock.

Jim brought his knees up and rested his face on his hand. As Hercule Poirot set the paper over a flame to reveal the hidden message and it became clear that the murder wouldn’t be so easy to solve, Spock had started to lean forward. Just slightly. He probably didn’t realize he was doing it, or he wouldn’t.

It was rare to see him so riveted on something that wasn’t numbers or data or a chess game he was losing. Jim could have fallen asleep right there, but that would be missing the whole point of the exercise.

When Poirot had all the suspects in one car and was about to reveal the culprit, Jim paused the playback. Spock turned, so clearly irritated that Jim had to laugh.

“I cannot identify the source of your amusement.”

“I want to know what _you_ think happened. Before the movie tells us.”

Spock frowned, fingers wound tightly together in his lap. “I do not understand.”

Jim sat up a bit, reminding himself that Spock didn’t watch movies, like, _ever_. “Well, that’s the point of the movie. To see if you can figure it out before he does. That’s what makes it exciting.”

Spock glanced at the screen. “I was under the impression that such productions existed only to relate a series of events. Perhaps also to elicit laughter or fear.”

Jim thought harder, fought to recall some of the stuff Bones used to tell him. “So, Humans make a lot of movies. A _lot_. And they make them to fit into different genres. So, yeah, a scary movie will be pretty predictable in that way. It’s when a movie _doesn’t_ do what you expect that you enjoy it more.

“I’m not trying to say the _Frontiers_ movies do any of that. They’re garbage, and that’s the appeal, but no one will still be watching them in one, two hundred years.”

Spock’s eyes glittered with interest. “Fascinating.”

“So what’s your theory?” Jim asked. Slanted eyebrows pulled together. “It’s okay to be wrong. That’s kind of the point. I just don’t think you are.”

Spock stared at him for a moment, maybe thinking of his answer and maybe wondering how soon it would be until leaving would be socially acceptable.

“If I _must_ speculate,” he said slowly, and Jim almost rolled his eyes. “Based on what you have just told me, I would deduce that the holovid would have the audience presume the existence of only one suspect. Therefore, I must conclude that not only are there several, but that every one of the suspects committed the crime in tandem.”

It was a lot just to avoid saying _I guess_ , but Jim was still awestruck. Even Bones hadn’t guessed the ending on his own.

“A well-developed hypothesis,” he complimented, taking on an approximation of Spock’s vernacular. Spock didn’t roll his eyes, but his raised eyebrow exuded exasperation.

“A hypothesis is a proposed change in one variable producing – “

“Yeah, yeah. You ready?”

Spock nodded and turned forward, and they finished the movie in relative silence. He was pleased with himself for guessing it, Jim knew. Then the credits rolled, and he seemed to draw back into himself, turning to Jim as though waiting for direction.

“So? What’d you think?”

“It was far more engaging than I had come to anticipate from other such Terran creations.”

In other words, he loved it. Jim was pretty satisfied with that. “Well, I’m glad. Thanks for humoring me, anyway.”

Spock started to shake his head, then seemed to stop himself. His eyes dropped, long lashes casting shadows over his cheeks.

“What is it?”

“It may be unwise to say,” he murmured. “May I accompany you back to our quarters?”

“Of course,” Jim said. He shut down the room and they walked through the quieting halls. Spock seemed lost in thought, and Jim desperately wanted to ask. To _know_. At first, he’d wondered if Spock’s appeal was all in his silence, the mystery of him. But with every day that passed that seemed like less and less of the truth. Jim only wished he would talk more. Everything he said was so well-thought out and _intelligent_. Especially his insults.

Maybe it was so impressive because Jim was totally his opposite. He was too impulsive – so quick to get the words out that it never sounded half as good as it did in his head. People were so quick to underestimate him because of that.

“’Night, Spock,” he called over his shoulder.

“Jim, a moment.”

He stopped, taking in the hesitant look on Spock’s face.

“I would not be averse to future exercises in Human culture.”

“You…” Jim blinked, hardly believing his ears. “Okay. Like what?”

“I do not doubt you will think of something suitable.”

“Sheesh. No pressure,” Jim huffed. Spock did his almost-smile.

“You should not feel pressured. I trust I will enjoy whatever you choose.” He looked Jim up and down and inclined his head. “Goodnight, Jim.”

Jim got ready for bed, exhausted but unable to turn his mind off. They’d have some free time once they got to the Starbase, no doubt. He still itched to get out there and _do_ something, but maybe this small détente wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

But now it was somehow on _him_ to get Spock to appreciate Human culture? It felt like a herculean task. A mystery movie was one thing. As he brushed his teeth, he briefly entertained the idea of forcing Spock into watching a comedy. That would be something.

At least he knew where he could start. His mom had given him the crossword book forever ago. It was stashed away in the bottom of his one bag from home. The flat, whispery paper was only a relief when his eyes were too strained to look at a screen. He’d only done a few, but he left them in just in case Spock needed a reference. After finding a lead stylus to write with, he left it on the fresher counter

_________

The next day was strange. Spock was all business on the bridge, with no mention of the crosswords, even though they’d vanished when Jim used the fresher that morning. He left Alpha early to spend time in the laboratories, leaving Jim slightly put-out. Tormenting Sulu just wasn’t as fun.

The day after that, he woke up too early, again. He saw the scarecrow _again_ , briefly. It wasn’t in the corner – now it was at the foot of his bed. A strangled cry left his throat as he kicked his way up against the wall.

“Computer,” he gasped. “Lights on!”

It disappeared. Jim swallowed hard and shut his eyes.

“Computer, run a scan of all life forms in this room.”

“ _Two_ ,” the voice answered smoothly. His heart jumped, then he remembered that the computer recognized conjoined quarters as one, for air duct purposes and such. “ _James Kirk – Human. S’chn T’gai Spock_ _– Vulcan.”_

He drove his fist into the wall, pain glancing up his arm and clearing his head.

“A dream,” he whispered, falling back on his pillow. “Just a dream.”

He managed to fall back asleep, but he left the lights on. Just like he was a kid.

_“Mom,” he whimpered, curling against her chest. “It w-was in my room. I_ saw _it!”_

_“I promise you, honey, it was just a nightmare,” Winona said soothingly, stroking his hair. “Sam woke up, too, and he didn’t see anything.”_

_“That’s because it ran away!”_

_She shushed him and rocked them back and forth on the porch swing. He was afraid to look up, because he knew he would see it. Out there in the field. Watching the house._

_“James, look,” Winona said nudging him. He followed her pointed finger, seeing two birds circling the field. “You see those birds?”_

_He dug his small feet into her thigh as leverage, gazing up at the soaring creatures. Sniffling, he nodded._

_“Do you know why they’re up there, and not down here eating our corn?”_

_“B-Because the scarecrow.”_

_“That’s right.” She pressed a kiss to his head. “And do you know why it keeps them away?”_

_He shook his head._

_“Because birds aren’t that smart. They see the scarecrow, and they think it’s a person. They think he’ll chase them away from the corn. So they fly up there, and wait for him to leave. But he_ doesn’t _leave, does he? So what do they do?”_

_“They go home.”_

_She smiled, digging a finger into his side until he giggled and squirmed. “And what do_ we _do?”_

_“We eat the corn!” He laughed, momentarily forgetting his fear._

_“We eat the corn,” she affirmed, laughing a warm, familiar laugh. “Jimmy, are you a bird?”_

_He shook his head obstinately. “I’m a boy.”_

_“Now tell me – are birds smarter than boys?”_

_He crossed his stubby arms and glowered. “No.”_

_“Well, there you go.” She smacked a kiss on his forehead that he promptly rubbed away. “The scarecrow can’t scare you anymore. You’re too smart.”_

_He hesitated, then nodded with newfound determination._

_“Because you are…?” She raised her eyebrows expectantly._

_“James Tiberius Kirk!”_

“James Kirk, you baffoon.”

Jim shot up, scrambling to pull the covers off of his head to face the intruder. Bones stood just inside the doorway, clearly working himself up to a real tirade.

“What the hell?” Jim slurred before he could start, looking around. “Why are you in my room?”

“Any special reason you decided not to show up to – ?“ Bones stopped abruptly, stepping closer to the bed. “Are you _crying?”_

Jim wiped his eyes of the tears that had accumulated, horrified. “What time is it?”

“Ten past the start of Alpha.” Bones squinted at him. “What’s wrong with you? The fuck did you do to your _eyes?”_

“Shit,” Jim muttered. “ _Shit._ ”

“Jim.” Bones stood in the doorway of the fresher as Jim pulled his clothes on and splashed cold water on his face, looking at his reflection. His eyes were bloodshot and itchy. “Why don’t you just come down and let me take a look at you right quick.”

It wasn’t a question.

“No,” Jim scrubbed a towel over his face. “No. We’re too close to the edge of Fed space. I have to be on bridge.”

Bones took a look around the room as Jim hurried out. Probably for empty liquor bottles. “You don’t need to tell _me_ that. I’m the one they sent to come collect your fool ass. Even though I’ve got enough to deal with right now.”

“I’m sorry. I just didn’t sleep well.”

“Hey.” Bones grabbed his shoulder, forcing him to a stop before he could rush to the turbolifts. “Is there something we need to talk about?”

He was so serious that Jim wondered if Scotty had snitched on him. But no, he wouldn’t do that. “No. Bones, I gotta go.”

Bones regarded him shrewdly before dropping his hand. “I want you to come see me later. If you don’t, I’ll come find you and it will _not_ be peaches and cream. Understood?”

“Yes,” Jim sighed. “Can I go now?”

He was in the chair only twelve minutes after Alpha started. As soon as he walked off the lift, Spock swept his gaze up and down Jim’s body in a way that made his skin prickle. He really needed to stop doing things like that before Jim had even more of a mental breakdown.

“Captain,” was all he said, looking back down at the terminal. Jim had expected at least _one_ comment about being late. He definitely deserved it. “Gamma shift report.”

Jim took the PADD, losing interest in it almost immediately.

“Sulu, status update?”

“Two days away from Starbase, Captain.”

“Any word from Engineering?”

“Negative, Keptin,” Chekov chirped. “The review of the Vorp Core has been halted after multiple crew members vere burned severely.”

“Burned?” Jim rubbed at his dry eyes. “How many? When did that happen?”

“Twelve, Keptin. 0300 hours." He swiveled to frown at Jim. "It is in the night report.”

“Shit,” he whispered.

“You’ve also received a Captains-eyes-only message from the Starbase.” Uhura appeared to his left, handing him yet another PADD. He typed in the necessary codes and the message appeared.

“Are you okay?” She asked, leaning in and examining him in a manner entirely too similar to Bones’. “Your eyes – “

“What are you talking about?” He gave her his best Captain’s grin. “Best shape of my life.”

She nodded doubtfully and returned to her station.

It was just Starbase 74 asking for updates on their ETA and such. He dictated a response to Uhura, feeling Spock’s eyes on him and refusing to look over.

“Commander, take the chair,” he said a few hours later. Maybe he needed to start wearing his contacts again. The words on the PADD screens were starting to all blur together. “I’m gonna go down to Engineering.”

“Yes, Captain,” Spock answered, lifting one eyebrow in question. _You look like shit,_ it said. _Should I be worried?_

Jim shook his head. He didn’t have an answer – definitely not one for Spock. What could he say? That he had a scary dream? It was pathetic, and he was pretty sure Vulcans didn’t have dreams anyway.

The group of crew was easy to find in Sick Bay. They’d crowded into one private room, sitting on every available surface. He figured they’d already been treated, but he wasn’t sure about how long it took to cure a third degree burn. A few of them had bandages on their hands, or arms, or faces.

Their conversation went silent as Jim stopped in the door, and he was amused to see a few bashful expressions. Like he was really going to yell at them for being hurt – after Bones and Scotty both had undoubtedly done.

“At ease,” he smiled. “Just wanted to make sure nobody lost any fingers or toes.”

There was scattered smiles, and the tension dissolved. An Axanarri spoke up first. His shirt sleeve appeared to have been singed away completely. “Routine cleaning of the warp coil, Captain. It ignited without warning. Must be a gas leak somewhere.”

Jim chewed the inside of his cheek. “Is it contained?”

“Should be, Captain,” a young, nearly Chekov-aged Human said. Ensign Robards, if Jim remembered correctly. He had dark circles under his eyes. “All engineering floors are hermetically sealed from the rest of the ship.”

Jim nodded, only half-relieved. “Doctor McCoy assigned you all bed rest, didn’t he?”

Everyone nodded.

“Good. As you were.”

He stuck his head into Bones’ office against his better judgement. “Hey, you got any eyedrops?”

The doctor looked up from his work, stress bleeding from every pore. “I’ve got a gloved finger with your name on it. Why ain’t you on the bridge?”

But he got up and rifled through a drawer, tossing over a small vial. “Thanks,” Jim said, catching it. “See you later.”

In the privacy of a turbolift, he unscrewed the lid and let a few drops of cold liquid fall into his eyes. The relief was instantaneous, and he made sure to erase any signs of the tears it produced before stepping into Main Engineering.

It was busy during Alpha. Red-shirted crew members bustled around, each pausing long enough to offer Jim a smile or a nod. He made sure to return each as he strode toward Scotty’s office.

“Jim,” he was waved inside immediately. Scotty had programmed his doors to remain open while he was in, a gesture Jim was sure a lot of Engineers appreciated. “I’m just finishin’ the official report now.”

“Just went to Sickbay. There’s a gas leak?”

Scotty nodded, looking at him like he was an idiot. “Aye. Already sent the message up tae the bridge.”

“Right. I just – doesn’t that mean you know where it’s coming from? Can’t it be fixed?”

Scotty chewed the end of his stylus. “I think it must be a leak from the deuterium cartridges. Only the system isn’t recognizing it. Could be hydrogen – non-toxic but flammable. Not enough for the computer to understand, perhaps. Jus’ enough to burn up my crew.”

He tossed the stylus down, sinking back in his chair. “And if it is hydrogen, mixing with the plasma coolant – “

“Hydrogen sulfide,” Jim finished for him. “Toxic as hell.”

“In concentrated doses, sure. I’ve had me best men workin’ overtime on it, but after the ignition... Figure I best leave it to the Starbase.”

He sounded defeated, which wasn’t like him. Jim shook his head. “No harm in trying, Scotty. Not like you lost anyone.”

Scotty tilted his head forward. “No. No’ yet, anyway. It's this ghost business I'm worried about.”

Jim smiled ruefully. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have even entertained the thought – “

“I’m serious, Jim,” Scotty cut him off. He looked around Jim’s shoulder before pressing a button that made the office door slide closed. “After we last talked, I noticed a few o’ me crew lookin’ a bit…distracted. Like you.”

“I wouldn’t say – “

“So I started askin’ around. Ach, don’ look at me like that, I didn’t name any names. What’s important is that you’re not the only one that’s seen somethin’.”

“No – _What?”_

“Robards and Shelby. They both mentioned seein’ something in their quarters in the past week. Nothin’ about a scarecrow, o’course, but Robards said it looked like a man. Shelby just said it were a shape.”

Jim’s mouth hung open – if Scotty taking everything so seriously before was a shock, hearing that Jim wasn’t alone in this kind of threw him for a loop. “They were both burned. I just saw them in Sick Bay.”

Scotty made a face. “I don’t like it, Jim. Somethin’ strange is goin’ on.”

Trepidation sat heavy in Jim’s stomach. They couldn’t have a ghost on the ship. They certainly couldn’t have a ghost _lighting crew on fire._ That wouldn’t exactly go over smoothly with Starfleet.

A voice that sounded suspiciously like Spock reminded him to step back from the situation, to look at the whole instead of just the parts.

“Have you mentioned this to anyone outside of your crew?” At Scotty’s headshake, he stood up. “Make sure you don’t. We can’t have the whole ship losing their minds. When we get to Starbase – not before – I want you to go to Bones and order mandatory health and mental examinations of anyone who saw this thing.”

Scotty’s expression was surprised, and then darkened. “Tha’ would have to include you, Captain.”

Jim nodded. “I know that.”

“So you think you’re losin’ your marbles. Shouldn’t you get tha’ evaluation now instead of later?”

“I’m not losing my – “ Jim took a deep, shaky breath. It wasn’t Scott he should be frustrated with. “If it happens now, word will spread. It always does. Doing it on Starbase is more private. I can’t just think about myself, here.”

Scotty looked like he wanted to argue, but he nodded. “For what it’s worth, I don’ think yer mad.”

“I really hope you’re right about that.”

_______________

As soon as Alpha ended, Jim planned to sleep for the remainder of the day. Scotty’s words circled his head in an endless spiral that his ADD only latched onto and sped up. Spock had to have him correct his report to Starbase about the leak twice, and though he didn’t say anything, his irritation was clear as he snatched the PADD away the third time.

Around 1400, Jim noticed his hands trembling. He gripped the stylus tighter and tried to ignore the way it was slowly spreading over his entire body. It wasn’t cold, or even fear. He was just _exhausted_.

“Captain,” Nyota said, stepping into the turbo with him as he left. Spock was staying behind, presumably to clean up the absolute mess Jim had made of his shift turnover report. Sulu had already gone, and Chekov was working double to ease the burden of Engineering however he could.

“What’s up?” He kept his arms crossed tight to hide the shaking. She stuck a hand on her hip.

“You look like shit. Are you hungover? Sick?”

“Neither. Just tired.”

He tried not to groan as she followed him off the lift. “You got Spock into crosswords.”

Jim tensed at the mention of Spock, even though it was oddly relieving to hear that he hadn’t given up the book for nothing. “So?”

“So he made me help him with the more ‘colloquial terminology’.” She mocked his voice perfectly. “He was supposed to be helping me learn lute, but it frustrates him to not finish a puzzle once he’s started.”

 _Please go away_ , Jim thought uncharitably. He liked Nyota, but what he so _didn’t_ need right then was a reminder that her and Spock had been getting cozy again. “It’ll do him some good, not knowing stuff. Vulcans aren’t too humble.”

She made a noncommittal sound. “I also heard about your date the other night.”

“I will literally resign my post if Spock called it a date.”

“Okay, fine, he didn’t. But do you know how many times I tried to get him to watch a holovid with me?”

“Uhura,” Jim said stiffly. She raised her eyebrows at the use of her last name. But they were at Jim’s door, and he really wanted to escape this conversation. “I’m sorry, but I really do need to catch some shut eye.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I can see that. Maybe I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah, sure.” Especially if she was gonna be hanging out in Spock’s quarters all the time.

The shivering didn’t stop when he was under his covers. He buried himself and shut his eyes.

It wasn’t so much the stupid fucking scarecrow that disturbed him. It was the… idea. Ghosts in space. Back on Earth, most of the old stories centered around spirits, memories trapped inside old houses or abandoned, crumbling castles in the United States of Europe. Just shades of the souls that had died there, treading the same steps they did in life.

He never paid it much attention – past childhood, anyway. Winona wasn’t superstitious at all, and while he definitely found ghost stories as fun as the next guy, it had never been something he believed in.

But if others were seeing things on his ship, where the hell did that leave him? If a soul could hang around after the body died, what did that mean for the hundreds of Starfleet crewmen that died during battle? Stuck, floating through the silent vacuum of space. It would make sense for them to be drawn to something like a starship. A floating pocket of life among the void.

If something like that could be true, was George Kirk still out there somewhere, waiting? Was that where Jim was destined to end up, too?

Sleep pulled him under before he could scold himself for getting too poetic.

____________

He felt slightly better after two hours of sleep. The trembling had died down a little, still lingering in his fingertips. His eyes itched again, but without the redness. True to his word – and not at all afraid of Bones’ wrath if he didn’t – he slouched his way to Medical to get wrung out and stabbed with hypos.

Bones stood with Nurse Chapel at a rolling terminal, discussing something in hushed tones. Jim cleared his throat, earning a glare that made him feel like gum stuck on a shoe. Bones grabbed him by the arm and dragged him into his office.

“I shouldn’t’ve let you out of my sight today.”

“What? Why not?”

He waved a tricorder over Jim. “You look like something a cat coughed up. A sick cat.”

“I am the sexiest Captain in Starfleet,” Jim croaked, glaring. Bones just shook his head, staring at the results and frowning.

“Hydrogen inhalation. Huh.” He hit some buttons. “Same as those Engineers that were in the fire this morning.”

“Well, it makes sense. I’ve been down there all week. Is that why I feel so bad?”

“Shut your mouth. I’ll decide what’s what.” Bones grumbled. “You’re showing higher levels than any of them did. Exactly how many hours have you been over there?”

Jim tried to recount his schedule over the past days, and Bones’ frown deepened.

“It’s awfully high, Jim. Shouldn’t be in your system for this long.” His eyes focused on Jim’s hands, which were trembling on the arms of the chair. “Have you been eating?”

Jim fisted his hands. “Here and there. Whenever I can get someone to let me use their code.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Kind of hard to keep an appetite when everything I replicate tastes like beets.”

Bones’ scowl turned guilty as he realized. “I thought you’da hacked past that by now. Didn’t mean it to go on this long.”

“Yeah, I thought _you’d_ have noticed I wasn’t using my code.” Jim’s tone was purposefully accusing, but Bones didn’t react. “So are you gonna fix me or what?”

“Not much I can do. Breathing purified air should get it out of your system. Would’ve helped if you came to me sooner. Even Spock noticed you’re out of sorts.”

Jim flinched as a hypo was stuck in his neck without warning. He was slacking, letting Bones walk out of his line of sight like that. Anger at Spock compounded with the pain of injection, the thought of a needle going through his skin making him dizzy. “I hope you reprimanded him. It’s not his place to talk to you about me.”

“For once, me and the hobgoblin are in complete agreement.”

Jim grit his teeth. Spock couldn’t make the time to talk to _him_ , but was getting buddy-buddy with _Bones,_ of all people? “Does _he_ know you and Uhura are fucking?”

Bones nearly dropped his tricorder in surprise. “That’s – its none of your goddamn business!”

“So it’s true,” Jim mused, a vindictive sort of pleasure soothing his anger. “It’s kind of hard to keep up. Because, you know, sometimes I think her and Spock are still hooking up. Just trying to get my facts straight, is all.”

Bones’ face had turned a sick sort of purple. Usually it was only Spock who could get him that angry – Jim was glad he hadn’t lost his touch. “You can be a real idiot, Kirk. You know that?”

“Is that any way to talk to your superior officer?” Jim smirked.

Bones’ voice rose to a yell. “Stop wearing your ass as a hat for _one_ minute, and you might just do somethin’ good for yourself. For once!”

Jim made a face. “You lost me.”

“Get the fuck out of my office,” Bones spat. Jim rolled his eyes as he complied, resisting the urge to throw a finger over his shoulder.

At least the hypo, whatever it was, had stopped the incessant shaking. If only for a vague sense of unease to take its place. He and Bones had had their fair share of fights – especially back in the Academy. They always made up.

Jim stopped outside of Sick Bay, leaning against the wall and taking a deep breath. Discomfort pulsed through his stomach, and he realized he was quite hungry. Breakfast had been the last thing he ate. With his luck, though, Bones had just changed his mind about fixing the beet thing. Maybe Sulu or someone would be in the dining area already so he could freeload off of them.

The severe lack of nutrition made itself known as he stepped away from the wall and pitched face-first onto the floor. For a terrifying second, he couldn’t discern up from down. He felt pain at his knees, and his chin, but he couldn’t coordinate enough to stand up.

“Captain!” A voice said from somewhere above. Jim screwed his eyes shut. _No, no, anyone else_.

Impossibly strong arms pulled him off the ground by his armpits and set him on his feet. He stumbled back from Spock as soon as he trusted he wouldn’t collapse again, bracing one hand on the wall and opening his eyes. The dizziness faded, slowly but surely, and he could focus on the large brown eyes watching him.

“I will retrieve Doctor McCoy.” He still half-reached for Jim, ready to catch him should he fall.

“No, don’t,” Jim managed. Long arms withdrew. “I just royally pissed him off. Besides, he already diagnosed me. Hydrogen inhalation.”

Spock cocked his head to the side. “The presenting symptoms suggest prolonged exposure, far past the time you have spent in Engineering.”

“He thinks it’s worse because I haven’t been eating.” Jim forced his feet to start moving toward the turbolifts. He just wanted to get _away._ “I don’t need two doctors, Spock. Is that why you’re down here? Going to Bones to chat about what an idiot I am?”

“I was returning from Impulse Engineering when I happened upon your collapse.”

Humiliation flamed in Jim’s cheeks. “Well, I sincerely apologize for taking up your time.”

“On the contrary. I find myself unoccupied for the next two point four hours. Perhaps I could take my meal with you in the Dining Hall?”

“Fine,” Jim snapped. The lift dropped them off on Deck 21. He could feel Spock watching him from the corner of his eye, and hated it.

“May I inquire as to why you have not been eating?”

Jim briefly explained the battle between Bones trying to restrict his diet and Jim’s hacking attempts to override him. Spock’s forehead lined with disapproval, but Jim couldn’t tell if it was directed at him or Bones. Probably both.

“Please sit, Captain,” he said as they entered the dining room. “I will retrieve your sustenance using my diet code.”

“I can carry my own food,” Jim grit out, moving toward the replicator. It was a little jarring how fast Spock moved, planting himself between Jim and the wall.

“I must insist. You are not well.”

If there weren’t people starting to look, Jim would have protested. The look in Spock’s eyes was clear. _Sit down, idiot, before you collapse again where everyone can see._

With a gargantuan sigh, he turned and looked for somewhere to sit. Nyota smiled and waved at him from across the room, and he couldn’t pretend he _hadn’t_ seen her, so he forced a smile and took the seat across from her.

“You look better – Jim,” she added hesitantly. Her smile was so surprisingly open that all of his anger with her melted away. It was undeserved, anyway.

“I just went to see Bones.” Jim watched carefully for any signs, but her smile didn’t waver in the slightest. She was good. “You were right, earlier. Apparently I’ve been breathing in straight hydrogen down in Warp all week.”

“That sounds bad.”

He shrugged. “I’ll be fine. Sorry, um, about earlier. I was just sour about being late to shift.”

“I’ve already forgotten.”

Spock set a tray down, taking the stool next to her. A faint flash of the irritation from earlier made a weak appearance. Jim didn’t actually believe what he’d said to Bones earlier – if he and Nyota really were together, Jim was pretty confident it was very much over between her and Spock. But he could still be jealous.

“What’s this?” Jim asked suspiciously, taking the bowl and spoon Spock offered. The soup was a deep, murky green with suspicious bits of vegetation floating around. An odorless steam rose from the surface.

“ _Bertakk_ soup, Captain. High in nutritious compounds that compliment Human physiology.”

In short, it was _healthy_. “I just thought you knew me well enough to bring me something deep fried.”

Spock pushed over a glass of water. “A deficiency in the appropriate amino acids and vitamins often presents itself in petulant behavior.”

“You’re calling me cranky,” Jim decided, pointing his spoon threateningly at Spock’s face. Nyota giggled through her bite of pasta.

Spock looked at the spoon, his raised eyebrow almost conveying disdain if it wasn’t for the gleam in his eyes. “An adequate synonym.”

“Spock,” Nyota said before Jim could answer. “How is your research with the soil compounds coming along?”

While Spock explained with his usual attention to detail, Jim tried a hesitant spoonful of the broth. Vulcan food was pretty disgusting most of the time. They seemed to value texture over flavor, which was bizarre. Even Spock’s favorite tea was basically hot water.

The nicest thing he could say about _this_ was that it was unoffensive. There were hints of cilantro and maybe ginger, though he doubted that’s what it actually was. At least the warmth of it spread through his chest pleasantly.

“I have found the research of T’Maya to be supplemental to my own in many respects. In particular, her application of biogenesis principles to my genetic modification is currently allowing several staples of Vulcan agriculture to be grown on the colony. I predict that New Vulcan will no longer require resources from the Federation within the Terran calendar year.”

“That’s awesome, Spock!” She said. Jim hadn’t taken in anything past _T’Maya_. He’d completely forgotten about her, and the reminder was unpleasant. “I’d love to hear more about it, but I’ve gotta run to Medical.”

“Oh, yeah?” Jim asked, seeing his chance. “What do you have to do there?”

Her mouth fell open just slightly, eyes going wide. Microscopic evidence of a guilty conscience. Jim raised an eyebrow, and in that moment, he knew that _she_ knew he knew. Her eyes flitted over to Spock for a brief second.

“If you must know, I’m on my period.” Her smirk widened as Jim balked. “Christine hooks me up with headache meds. Any other questions, Jim?”

“Nope.” He was man enough to see when he was outmatched. She walked off with a flourish.

Spock was regarding him with veiled curiosity, dropping his eyes to Jim’s empty bowl when he was caught. “Do you require more sustenance at this time?”

“No,” Jim said, a little surprised that he was full. “That was pretty good.”

“Perhaps you will not be so averse to my suggestions in the future.”

An odd thing to say. It wasn’t like Jim was constantly asking Spock to get him food. Maybe Spock was remanding him for it – but _he_ had been the one to insist!

“I continue to find myself in a state of quiescence, Captain.”

“Spock, I don’t even know what that that word means. Did you shit yourself?”

A very rare green blush passed over Spock’s cheeks and ears. “As usual, I find myself unable to form a response to the…subtleties of Human humor.” Jim cackled. “I was referring to my lack of other arrangements.”

“Oh. Gotcha. Chess?”

Spock hesitated, staring down at his empty plate. Jim took that to mean he had something else in mind, but was too Vulcan to admit to _wanting_ to do anything.

“Spit it out,” Jim urged. Spock shot him an unappreciative look.

“I am unable to complete a number of entries within the collection of crosswords puzzles you gifted to me.”

This was a very rare opportunity, indeed. “Do you need help?’

He expected at least a _token_ protest, but Spock didn’t give one.

“Yes,” he said simply. And Jim’s heart clenched in honest affection for the person sitting across from him.

“Okay, sounds good. I’ll clean this up.”

Spock jerked the tray out of his reach with a lightning-quick movement, collecting Jim’s bowl and glass with his other hand. “Allow me.”

“Uh, okay,” Jim said uncertainly. Spock whisked the dishes away to the receptacle, the blush still marking his cheeks.

___________

Jim sat cross-legged on the floor at the foot of Spock’s bed. The room was immaculate, as always. The only personal effects he had – to Jim’s knowledge – were his lute and the chessboard his mother had given him, safely tucked away in his closet. He burned some kind of incense, sometimes. Jim knew this because the nature-y, spicy smell bled over to the fresher.

And now there was a fourth thing. Spock picked the crossword book up from his desk and regarded Jim’s position as though he wasn’t quite sure what to do. In the end, he sat on the floor next to him, leaning his back against the bed and stretching his unbelievably long legs out. They’d both taken their boots off at the door, and Jim found himself staring at the sliver of bare ankle as Spock’s trousers rode up.

“Nyota informed me,” Spock started. Jim jumped guiltily, tearing his eyes away from pale skin to focus on the book as Spock opened it. “That using a database to search for terms ‘defeats the purpose’ of the exercise. It is expected that only prior knowledge is to be drawn upon.”

“That is correct.” Jim had to lean in to view the page Spock had opened to. When Jim did a crossword, it was usually the more obscure vocabulary he struggled with. It made sense that Spock would be the opposite. He’d left all the easy ones empty, but knew things like _octet_ and definition for _octane_ probably off the top of his head. “Which one do you want to start with?”

Spock rested one perfectly manicured fingernail – seriously, when did he find the time to clean his _nails_? – on the bottom of the page. 64 across. Three letters, starting with _P._ Jim looked at 41 down.

“You got ‘flat top’ on your own?”

“It is among the regulation hairstyles listed in the Starfleet guidelines.”

Jim chuckled, finding 64 across on the key. _Evidence of a couple’s honeymoon phase, for short._ “I see why you didn’t get this one. It’s ‘PDA’.”

Spock jotted in the letters. His handwriting was predictably perfect, almost its own font. “Elaborate.”

Jim looked up at the lights, resting his head against the mattress and thinking. “It means ‘public display of affection’.”

“And this ‘honey moon phase’?”

Jim laughed at Spock’s awkward phrasing. “A honeymoon is a trip that couples take after their wedding. To, ah, _consummate_. So a couple in the honeymoon phase is just two people being really annoyingly touchy in front of other people. PDA.

He tilted his head to the side, taking in Spock’s confused expression. “I was under the impression that Humans both condoned and found comfort in such displays.”

“It’s more than that,” Jim said, attempting to talk around the culture barrier. “Holding hands, even a peck on the mouth, that’s no big deal. It’s when it goes beyond that that people get grossed out.”

“I believe I understand.” Spock’s eyes glanced down, stopping somewhere around Jim’s Adam’s apple. Then he blinked and looked down at the puzzle. “A colloquial term for ‘half-wit’. Seven letters, ending in _D_.”

Jim moved to look, now very aware of how close their faces were and finding it hard to not think about _that_. “I think you’ll have to fill out more letters for me to know that one.”

They made their way through the empty spaces, filling out _Tampa, XXX Rating –_ that one took a while to explain – and then _Abel_ (brother of Cain).

“Christianity is one of the dominant religions on Earth,” Spock said after writing it in. He looked up at Jim expectantly.

“Yeah,” Jim allowed, waiting.

“Do you follow this belief system?”

“Um…” It was usually a pretty touchy subject, but he remembered with relief that Spock couldn’t possibly be offended by it. “No. No, I don’t follow any religion.”

“You do not believe in a higher power?”

Jim thought of Scotty’s mother, for some reason. “On Earth, I’d call myself agnostic. It just means I neither believe nor disbelieve.”

Spock lifted an eyebrow. “That statement carries no logical weight.”

“You aren’t the only one who thinks that,” Jim laughed. “I just don’t know, is all. If there is a God, I’m not gonna spend my time praying to him.”

Spock did his head-tilt thing. “And yet you celebrate the occasion of Christmas.”

“Well…the gift-giving isn’t really what’s religious about it. It’s more like a part of Earth’s year that every Human knows about, and out here on these ships... it’s a way to be together. To think of home, or something like that. It’s mostly just me and Bones exchanging alcohol. I might video my mom for a while."

He cut himself off, getting bored of his own rambling. But Spock didn’t look bored, he looked interested past what might just be polite. Like he actually cared about what Jim was saying.

“Do Vulcans believe in ghosts?” As soon as the words were out there, Jim regretted them. Spock’s politeness could only go so far.

If there was any surprise, Spock hid it well. “Not as such. There is _katra_.”

“Which is…?”

Spock looked away, and set his jaw strangely. “I apologize. It was unwise to speak the word, knowing the curiosity it would elicit.”

“Oh,” Jim said, disappointed. “One of those big Vulcan secrets, huh?”

Spock’s mouth twitched, but his eyes were sad. “Indeed.”

“Does Uhura know about it?”

He looked over almost suspiciously. “She does not.”

Jim chewed the inside of his cheek. “Have you ever done the meld thingy with her?”

“On multiple occasions.”

That vague, childish jealousy ballooned into something way stronger.

Jim wasn’t at all prepared for the way it hurt. He always thought it was his ego that was so proud of having befriended Spock. That should have been enough, right? So it didn’t make sense that Spock being even closer to Nyota should bother him so much.

Well, it made sense now. As he stared at Spock, Jim understood. It wasn’t just friendship. It wasn’t even just a passing physical attraction that he’d felt for probably _hundreds_ of people and just brushed off. For every one of those people, even the ones he’d slept with, something vital had been missing.

Jim _wanted_ Spock. In every sense of the word. His fucking _ankles_ were a turn-on.

“You seem to labor under the assumption that a mind meld is romantic in nature. Even so, it should not come as a surprise that I would have done so with Nyota.”

Spock’s quiet murmur jolted him out of it. He’d been watching Jim intently, probably wondering why he’d ever agreed to serve under such a brain-dead, idiot Captain.

Jim cleared his throat, feeling a little like he was floating outside of his own body. “No, I know it’s not. I did one with you.” At Spock’s startled blink, he rushed to correct himself. “Sorry – old you. First you? Sevek, or whatever his fake name is.”

He knew this information upset Spock, because his face went totally devoid of emotion in a way that Jim hated. Even his eyes turned cold and distant.

“He engaged in a meld with you,” he repeated. Jim nodded, and saw Spock’s hands tighten convulsively around the book. “For what purpose?”

Jim forced himself not to look at those hands. “It was basically a crash course in all the Nero stuff. I think he thought it was the only way I would believe him. If I saw it for myself.”

“That is unlikely,” Spock said tightly, and for a moment Jim saw an echo of what he’d seen as Spock tried to choke him to death over a year ago. Real, Human anger.

“Unlike – what, you think I’m lying?” Jim snorted.

Spock got to his feet. “I have a standing appointment with Ensign Gorvrosch in the Botany laboratory."

Jim thought he might need to go see Bones about whiplash – what the hell had just happened? He wasn’t _ready_ for Spock to leave. His world had just been rocked by a big, fat, life-changing revelation – goddammit he needed Spock to stay here and help him figure it out!

“Okay,” he breathed, getting up.

Spock hit the door release, and it _whooshed_ open. His eyes were stuck in some middle distance, the line of his jaw too tight. A drastic change from the soft, calm atmosphere of earlier. Jim had to lean toward him to pick up his shoes, and Spock visibly recoiled, stepping back toward his closet.

He didn’t bother putting his shoes on. Just stepped into the hall, feeling a little like some cadet on the walk of shame. Spock exited after him, hands clasped behind his back.

“It has been a pleasant evening,” he said, the forced nature implying the exact opposite. “I will see you on the bridge in the morning.”

“Okay,” Jim said stupidly. “See you.”

It was a disaster. Spock was mad at him a lot – usually more often than he _wasn’t_. But it had been a while. They’d been spending more time together – the chess games, the movie, and now this. The thought of that new closeness having to end was too much to handle.

Well, that was one question answered. God _was_ real, and he really hated James Kirk.

The cold air of his room after Spock’s toaster-oven quarters only provided the slightest physical relief. His mind still wrestled with the rest. The very clear distinction between _then_ and _now_ that hadn’t existed ten minutes ago. Before he knew he liked Spock, and after. Even thinking it to himself, alone, made him want to check himself into an insane asylum. Forget the ghost – this was capital-N nutty.

His first instinct was to go talk to Bones about it, let his oldest friend tell him he was an idiot and that liking a Vulcan was probably the worst thing he could do for his self-esteem. But he _couldn’t_. Because Bones was the _other_ person he’d alienated that day. Maybe he should go slap Scotty across the face and call it a day.

Working was useless. He got a pathetic amount done before his eyes forced him to give up, stinging and watering. Eating might have helped, but the thought also made him nauseous. Shower, shave, bed. Just like every other night. It should have been second nature, but he found each task harder to complete than the last. Shaving took forever, his hands were shaking so bad.

On the way to bed, he fell again. Another bout of overpowering dizziness that should have bothered him. But where all that stuff lived his brain, there was only Spock’s face, livid with anger. So he dragged himself off of the floor and fell into bed, rubbing the rapidly forming bruise on his shoulder.

In the darkness, he tossed and turned for what felt like hours. Never slipping fully under that layer of unconsciousness, only getting closer and closer without meeting it. He was brought instantly out of that stupor as his brain registered the presence of another. It wasn’t quite a sound that did it – more like a disturbance in the air. A breath.

Fear wasn’t so quick to take over this time – he was used to it, now. Jim Kirk was nothing if not a fast learner – certain, Vulcan areas of his life excluded. He was more than a little curious about what was happening on his ship. Steeling himself, he sat up and commanded the lights on, prepared to face the scarecrow again.

Only it wasn’t the old scarecrow at the foot of his bed.

It was Winona Kirk.

“M-mom?” He asked hesitantly, dazed. She looked worried, and sad. Her graying blonde hair swayed around her shoulders as though caught in a breeze. She wore a faded old Starfleet sweatshirt, and blue jeans specked with paint. The first instinct was to inquire as to what had her looking so _sad_ , and to remedy it.

Then his hindbrain woke up, and the taste of blood filled his mouth. Scotty’s story. He gasped, opened his mouth to ask – and then she was gone. Gone.

_Gone._

“C-Computer – _call Winona Kirk.”_ He scrambled to the terminal, which was still blank. “Call her!” He cried again, tapping the screen with his fingers. When nothing happened, he drove his fists against the fiberglass like an animal. The computer didn’t respond to him. The screen didn’t light up at his touch. _Nothing was happening._

Spock – Spock had a terminal, too. Jim raced to the fresher, beating on the door that led to Spock’s room.

“Spock!” He yelled. Multiple times. Just when he was about to turn and run for another door to knock on, it slid open. Spock was shirtless and rumpled and clearly just out of bed. Jim tried to move past him. Through him. Whichever was fastest.

“Let me go!” He cried, finding himself caught by two incongruously strong hands.

“Jim!” Spock said, obviously flabbergasted. “What has happened?”

“It’s – I just saw her.” Jim thought he might be crying. Again. It wasn’t important. “Her – I saw her ghost.”

The all-encompassing horror of it took him to another plane, something dark and senseless. What would he do? He had to go home and arrange the funeral – there was no one else. Sam was on Deneva. He probably couldn’t be reached for a few days, he lived so far from the city –

“Jim, that is not possible.” Spock’s gentle voice coaxed him toward sanity.

“I’m not a bird, Spock!” He yelled. But no, that wasn’t what he meant to say. He shook his head, desperately needing to be understood. “I’m not crazy. I’m not the only one who saw it!”

“Saw _what_?” Spock shook him so hard his head lolled back and forth and he lost his equilibrium for a moment, sagging. “You are not well. Computer, send Doctor McCoy a code red for Captain – “

“ _No!”_ Jim screeched. “Look! Just turn around! _She’s right there!”_

Spock’s eyes widened. He turned to look where Jim pointed, at the opposite wall.

“There is no one here, Jim.”

“You’re pretending not to see her!” Jim accused, fighting to get free. “You don’t want to believe me! You won’t even _try!_ ”

 _“Order unclear. Please repeat,_ ” the voice in the ceiling said.

Spock’s mouth opened. Jim _didn’t have time_ for this. There was no time – he had to know. He jarred a startled sound out of Spock by driving his shoulder into his chest, throwing himself bodily toward the terminal in the corner.

“Call Winona Kirk! Call her _now!_ ” He clawed at the screen, but _this_ one wasn’t working, either. There was blood across the glass. “It’s not working!”

“It is working. _Stop_!” Jim was jerked away from the terminal, howling in rage and giving it everything he had to get away from Spock. Which turned out to be almost enough – it was a short but violent struggle before Spock had him pinned to the floor. “You _must_ zero yourself, Jim. Computer, send for Doctor – “

“ _No_ ,” Jim screamed, thrashing. A hand clamped over his mouth and Spock repeated the order harshly, eyes boring into his. Jim tried to think of the worst things he could say – anything to make Spock hurt the way he was hurting Jim by keeping him from making that call. Maybe he managed to say some of it, or maybe he didn’t. His stomach heaved and the back of his throat filled with fire.

His nose and lungs burned as he choked on his own vomit. There were emergency protocols that had been drilled into his head at the Academy – first aid, what to do when you fall through ice on a lake, how to not panic when you can’t breathe, because the human brain can actually go a while without air. None of that mattered now. He tried to breathe anyway.

Spock’s hand disappeared. Jim’s body was rolled to the side and there was a violent, sharp hit to his upper back. Someone shouted his name.

And everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who left comments or subscribed. It means so much!


	3. Proposal

_Spock drew close, his breath warm in the sub-freezing cave. His eyes were full of emotion, so different than that of the Spock Jim knew. The one who had just blasted him off of the_ Enterprise _and basically condemned him to death. Jim shook his head, confused._

_“My mind to your mind,” Spock whispered, voice aged and ragged. Ancient, glittering eyes filled with anticipation. Then his fingers touched Jim’s face and everything fell away._

_There was no comparing it – that’s what threw him. It was like nothing else in the Human experience, quite literally. A swirling nebula of history, memories, thoughts. He saw himself – but it wasn’t him. It was his father – but, older? George Kirk had died at thirty. This man looked to be in his mid-fifties._

No, _a voice boomed. Whispered. Called from a distance._ That is not for you. Not yet.

_There was an agony there, and Kirk didn’t know which one of them it belonged to. Something lost. Something found. Something precious, and necessary, and vital. A word Jim didn’t know._

_Those images and feelings melted away, and Spock told him about the supernova. Romulan – the planet that had been lost and yet was not lost. Going through the wormhole. The implosion of Vulcan._

_And behind it all, behind the cry and the murmur of Spock’s narration – behind even his incomparable sorrow and shame and fear – there was a word. Jim didn’t think he was meant to hear it. Spock kept it hidden away, but it called out to him. A word…_

_T’hai'la._

_T’hai'la._

“T’hai'la.” This was whispered close to his ear. Warm air caressed his skin. “ _T’hai'la, fun’uh na’nash-veh .”_

There were other words, but those were repeated more often than the rest. He held onto them, tried to turn toward the source to listen closely. Sleep clung to him too tightly for him to open his eyes, but he tried.

For that voice, he would try.

______________

It was some time before he could understand. That he was in Sick Bay. It was the _smell_. Ugh. Somewhere, he knew Bones was smug about it, too. The light was harsh. He had to blink and then blink away tears as his eyes adjusted.

“Welcome back to the land of the living.”

Bones was sat next to Jim’s bed, arms crossed. He _did_ look smug, the bastard. Jim looked past him, confused when the walls were green instead of white.

“We’re on the Starbase,” Bones supplied. “Stabilizing you – that was all me, don’t get me wrong. But you’ve been out for, oh, maybe two days, now?”

“No way,” Jim tried. His mouth didn’t quite get with the program. Bones smiled when he tried again and got it right.

“Way, Jim.” He settled back, slipping into his most obnoxious story-telling voice. “I’m half-asleep when I get a Red Alert from Spock. The guy runs into Sick Bay with you in his arms, bleedin’ all to hell, the both of you. Tells me you were ravin’ and rantin’ about a ghost. Said you tried to call your mom, beat the crap out of him, and then had a seizure.”

He chuckled at Jim’s expression. “She’s fine, by the way. I talked her down – she was worried to all hell about some video call and you screaming. Have fun with that conversation.”

Jim shook his head. “I don’t…I wasn’t…”

“Hush, now, let the grown up talk.” Bones patted his hand condescendingly, then curled his hand around it and squeezed. A display so unlike Bones that Jim _did_ hush. “Spock was almost worse off than you were. Dropped you onto a bed and told me to treat you for acute hydrogen sulfide poisoning. Then the madman just ran his ass right out of Sick Bay.

“While I was strapping you into every machine I got, he was down in Warp solving our little problem there. Now, don’t ask me – buncha mumbo-jumbo speak. I’ll let him tell it, he’ll only say I’m wrong no matter what.”

“Tell me what? Hydrogen sulfide – ?” His head swam. Bones let go of his hand to grip his wrist.

“Let me guess – you don’t remember any of it.” He sounded resigned.

“No,” Jim said. “No, I remember some. It feels like a dream or something. I’m not sure – “

Bones glanced over his shoulder at the closed door, then leaned in close. “Now listen here, Jim. I’m gonna go call for him, because I’m fairly certain he may kill me if I don’t.” He paused, clearly wrestling with some inner monologue. “I don’t like gettin’ in your business, whatever Nyota thinks – “

“Nyo – ?”

“Quit. Runnin’. Your mouth,” Bones growled. Jim rolled his eyes. “I’ve never seen Spock so worked up. Not even when his damn planet exploded. He only left your side when he had to go be Captain – nearly bit my face off when I tried to get him to go shower or eat. I don’t think he’s slept at all. Just sat by your bed and stared at you like he was lookin’ at the Sun. Catch my drift, Jim?”

Jim moved his hand so he was gripping Bones’ wrist, too. Just to take the bite out of his words. “I don’t like you in my business, either.”

Bones did something he didn’t expect. He laughed. “You are somethin’ else, James Tiberius.”

He stood up and ruffled Jim’s hair.

“Wait!” Jim tried to sit up. “Can’t you just explain – ?”

“Mumbo jumbo!” Bones called over his shoulder. “Just sit tight, or I’ll give you measles because it’s fun!”

“You just like seeing me in a dress,” Jim shot back, making sure his hospital gown hadn’t ridden up too much. 

He slumped back down and took a catalogue of his body. Everything felt…good. Relatively. His eyes weren’t burning, he didn’t feel any shaking. The hollow ache of his stomach begged for food, and that was an improvement over the nausea and pain of before. Mostly, he was confused. Bones had been remarkably unhelpful in piecing together his memories.

Jim had seen his mother. And that had worried him, even though it seemed obvious now that it couldn’t be real.

If they were on Starbase already, then Jim should be meeting with the resident Commodore, discussing ship maintenance, food storage. Stuff like that. Spock must be doing it all in his stead. He was more than capable, but Jim felt bad. That was _his_ job. _His_ burden.

Oh, Spock.

Maybe there was still _some_ nausea.

Jim was a total ass. Not only had he realized he was in love with his First Officer, he had pissed him off _and_ attacked him – all in one night. Did they give medals of honor for that sort of thing? Just because of the sheer _audacity_?

Voices and movement filtered in. Jim looked at the open door, terrified and elated to see the object of his thoughts stepping in. Everything was in order, of course. Not a wrinkle or thread out of place. But Spock looked exhausted. Frail.

“Captain,” he said smoothly, nodding. “I am relieved to see you awake.”

Any distant hope Jim had shattered at the formal tone in Spock’s voice. Obviously Bones had mistaken friendly concern for something way different – something that would never be. Jim didn’t make another attempt to sit up, and he didn’t bother with preamble.

“Bones said you would explain what happened.”

Spock stared, and stared. Jim squirmed under his gaze and gestured to the chair. “C’mon, sit.”

When Spock drew closer, the tautly drawn strings in Jim’s chest eased a bit. The circles under his eyes were a light yellow. Less easy to see than the purple of a sleepless Human, but strikingly beautiful.

“Where would you like me to begin?”

Jim shrugged. Spock would usually make a disapproving remark about a non-verbal answer like that, but this time he looked uncertain.

“From the beginning,” Jim urged impatiently. Spock wound his fingers together in his lap and fixed his blank gaze on the wall.

“It was clear at once that you were experiencing a hallucinatory lapse. You were convinced someone was in the room with us, and you made an attempt to video call your mother. The call went through, and yet you believed it had not. I attempted to calm you, and then to subdue you.”

“Did I hurt you?” Jim remembered Bones’ comment about blood. On both of them. Spock’s placid expression wavered as he took his eyes off the wall to stare at his own hands.

“You certainly resisted my efforts. The damage consisted of bruising and minor skin abrasions. Within the bounds of a heightened adrenal state, your strength was beyond that of normal Human capabilities. There were also various insults uttered that I believe were meant to break my concentration so you could attempt once again to overpower me.”

The words were spoken with a clinical frankness, but Jim couldn’t feel guiltier.

“What did I say?”

Spock swallowed. “You were not in your right mind. I do not take offense to your ravings.”

“Spock,” Jim forced himself up, until he was half-sitting, using his weak arms for support. “Spock, look at me.” He waited until Spock did it, ignoring the way it made his arms even weaker. “Whatever I said – I _need_ you to know I didn’t mean it. I remember how angry I was, and it couldn’t have been good.”

Spock nodded. “It is understood.”

“You really won’t tell me?”

The slightest tightening of the fists clenched in Spock’s lap. “I believe, should I repeat them, you would be more wounded than I.”

Well, _that_ was cryptic. “Spock – “

“I will not,” came the firm, final rebuke. Jim blinked and had to turn his head away for a moment. He _refused_ to cry again. Maybe ever.

“Fine,” he sighed, easing himself back. Spock tracked every movement, his shoulders only relaxing once Jim was on his back. “Why did I have hydrogen sulfide poisoning?”

The answering nod was almost pleased, like Spock was glad to be back on track. “The symptoms were clear. Tremors, eye irritation, vertigo, delusions. They only would have presented from prolonged exposure to hydrogen in its gaseous form, or very recent exposure to hydrogen sulfide. It was troubling, yet I deferred to Doctor McCoy and his…diagnosis.” Spock’s voice became strained. “When you began to seize, it became clear.”

Jim raised his eyebrows, waiting for an explanation. Spock looked conflicted, and angry.

“You had not been in the Warp terminal for quite some time. The effects of hydrogen inhalation should have faded, and yet they had increased exponentially. You seized, and I understood that not only was this a more severe symptom than only hydrogen itself would produce, but that you were not suffering inhalation from the Warp terminal at all. Calculating the locations within which you spend the largest percentage of your time, I concluded that this could only be explained by an increased amount of a hydrogen sulfide compound being pumped into your quarters through the vent system.”

“I don’t understand,” Jim sighed, frustrated. He was suddenly very aware of an old fact – that people tended to piss themselves or _worse_ during a seizure. Oh, Christ.

“It was only under duress that Lieutenant Commander Scott revealed what you had confided in him.” He looked away when Jim whipped his head to the side to stare in shock. “You were seeing things that you believed to be connected to your childhood. Ghosts.”

The word sounded foreign on Spock’s tongue. Like he didn’t believe in it and didn’t like saying it.

“In the midst of your delusional state, you mentioned that others had seen ‘it’. I pressed the issue to the Lieutenant Commander, informing him in brief terms of the issue at hand. He contacted the crew members who had shared your delusions, and removed them from their quarters promptly.”

“ _Why?_ ”

“The vent system runs directly parallel to the Secondary Hull Warp Drive wall in a series of hermetically sealed fiberglass cylinders. The most efficient allocation of these vents was deemed by Charles Grainier in the 2195 redesign – “

“Spock,” Jim huffed. “Is this a history lesson?”

“Apologies, Captain.” Jim fisted his hands at his sides. “In short, the vents do not run horizontally along each deck, but vertically from hull to stern. As I suspected, the deuterium control conduit had maintained a fracture in its paneling, allowing release of hydrogen gas into the inner Warp components, as well as into the outer area of the ventilation vents.

“Over time, the gas eroded enough of the sealant to enter the oxygenated air to our quarters, as well as the quarters of all crew who experienced hallucinations. My physiology differs from yours significantly enough that I do not experience adverse effects to hydrogen in its gaseous states. I can say that no other effected crew reached such a severe state as you.”

Jim shifted uncomfortably, relieved that no one else got hurt and wondering if he had underwear on. Knowing Bones, absolutely not. Spock’s eyes flitted to the movement of his hips, and then returned to the floor.

“Lieutenant Commander Scott has speculated that the fire in the nacelle exacerbated all the aforementioned issues, explaining your rapid physical and mental deterioration. If you had not alerted me to the problem, it is extremely unlikely you would have survived.”

His logic was totally sound, of course. Jim didn’t know how he could sound so calm about all of it. Well, he _did_ know, and that’s what stung.

“You’re a genius, Spock, you know that?”

Spock didn’t react at all to that except to stare harder at the floor.

“Why – “ Jim drew an unsteady breath. “Why would it make me see my mom?”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “There is a word on my pl – in my culture. Used to explain the illogical fears of small children. A Standard equivalent would be _apophenia_. Seeing one thing and perceiving a connection to something else, though the two are wholly unrelated. Lieutenant Commander Scott humored your delusions, relating to you an event from his past that your deoxygenated mind later reproduced.”

“And the scarecrow?”

Spock’s mouth tightened. So Scotty had told him about that, too. “The same, Captain. Your body was perceiving the stress of harmful chemicals in the air, and without a proper explanation ready produced hallucinations, specifically something that would frighten you.”

Jim stared at Spock’s hands, wondering if they were a soft as they looked. “How illogical of me.”

“You are not to blame.”

Jim frowned at Spock’s intonation. “Then who, exactly?”

Spock got to his feet. Jim’s heart sank. “I must go. There are pressing matters to attend to in your absence.”

“Already?” Jim bit his tongue. “I mean, you should let me take over now that I’m up and at ‘em.”

“Negative. You are under strict orders for rest until 1100 hours tomorrow.”

“What time is it now?”

“1500 hours.”

Jim groaned. “Fuck.” Spock’s eyes flashed over his body, as though looking for the source of Jim’s outburst. “I’m gonna get _bored._ At least bring me some paperwork.”

“That would not be prudent.”

So it was gonna be like that. Jim put his best _I’m-the-goddamn-Captain_ face on. “And if I made it an order?”

That got him another raised eyebrow. “Until you are released from Medical care, I am acting Captain.”

“Fair enough.” Jim cast around for something, _anything_ to keep Spock from leaving. “Will you come back?”

“There is much to do,” Spock said dismissively. “I doubt I will be unoccupied for the rest of the day.”

He took one step toward the door, and Jim did something very stupid. His hand reached out, almost without him thinking about it, and grasped Spock’s arm. “Please? I…”

Spock wrenched his arm away and all but ran from the room. Jim let his arm hang off the edge of the bed, gritting his teeth against a flood of shame and panic. He shouldn't have done that. He just...

What if they couldn’t even be _friends_ anymore? Would it be like a year ago? Frosty silences and avoidance whenever they were off-bridge? It would kill him, Jim realized. He didn’t know who he was without Spock anymore.

Unable to sit still, he turned his thoughts to escape. Maybe if he could just go find Spock and apologize, it would be okay. He was halfway down the hall before a Nurse found him and forced him back to his room under threat of court-martial.

At the very least, he was given pants to wear. He lay in his thin, uncomfortable bed and stared at the ceiling. Wallowing wasn’t his strong suit. Even if it made things worse, he needed to _do_ something.

For a while, he struggled to recall the words from his dream. Or was it a memory? He wasn’t sure anymore. Tryla? No. He closed his eyes and switched letters around until something sounded right.

His door opened again about an hour later, and Jim was pulled off the bed and into one of the most masculine hugs in his life. Scotty slapped him on the back so roughly he almost bit his tongue off.

“Jimmy Boy!” Scotty held him at arm’s length and shook him a little. He smelled like malt and – oddly – rain. “Ach, if it isn’t a relief to see ya.”

“You, too, Scott. I’m going nuts in here.” Jim stepped back, noticing the brown paper bag in Scotty’s hand for the first time. “What’s that?”

“Thought you’d be hungry for something made in a real kitchen. Somethin’ from home. My home, anyway.”

Jim took the bag and sank into a chair, using his bed as a table. “Fish and chips. God, Scotty, you really know the way to a man’s heart.”

Scotty sat in the other chair, filling Jim in on the ship’s condition while he shoveled greasy fried fish and fries into his mouth. It was probably too much, too fast, but it tasted too good for him to worry about how it would come out. Or back up.

“Tha’s what really grinds me abou’ it. The cracks woulda been fixed durin’ routine maintenance. Jus’ bad luck. And it almost got ye killed.”

“I’ve never felt better, Scott. Don’t worry about it,” Jim said through a mouthful. Scotty reached over and stole a fry.

“Yer Vulcan seems to have calmed down a bit.”

Jim almost choked. Scotty reached over and slapped him on the back again.

“He’s not too happy with me. No’ that the glarin’ isn’t an improvement over the yellin’.”

“What are you talking about?”

Scotty chuckled. “When he found out we’d been discussin’ ghosts I thought he’d break a chair over my back. Said it was my fault things went so far, and he had half a mind tae have me transferred off ship.”

“He would never. Don’t worry.” Jim wiped his hands on a napkin, scowling. “I came to you for a reason. You were the only one who wouldn't laugh in my face."

“Aye.” Scotty stroked his chin thoughtfully. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say the mannie was upset you’d been keepin’ it from ‘im.”

Jim snorted. “I’m sure. C’mon, he’s just sore he didn’t figure the Warp Drive stuff sooner.”

“I don’ know abou’ that,” Scotty said doubtfully.

Jim changed the subject, and they whiled away a decent chunk of time talking about the ship. They’d be out of dock within four days. It felt like forever, but every piece of the Drive was going to have to be double-checked by Starbase engineers and officials alike.

Luckily – or not so luckily – Nyota showed up just after he’d left. She pulled Jim into a much gentler hug, which surprised him.

“Have you eaten?”

“No,” he lied, snatching the small container she’d brought. It looked like soup, and once he’d opened the lid he realized it was that _Bertakk_ stuff again.

“That’s from Spock,” she said, sitting and crossing her legs primly. Jim paused with the spoon halfway to his mouth, and she smiled. “He’s worried about you, but said he was too busy to bring it himself. Why do I get the feeling you picked a fight with him earlier?”

“Jesus, why is everyone so worried about Spock? _I’m_ the one who almost died!”

He put down about half of the soup, avoiding her gaze. It was almost completely tasteless, especially after the fish, but he felt the need to finish it.

“If you must know, he’s the one that stormed out. What’s new?” He stabbed the spoon into the bowl. “I’ve never been to this Starbase. Is it nice?”

She rolled her eyes but humored him. He learned that there were several Terran restaurants, a holovid theater, and even a spa. The thought of real, non-replicated coffee appealed to him more than anything else.

But Nyota wouldn’t be waylaid for long. She obviously had something to say, so he allowed the conversation to come to a slow halt so she could get it out of her system.

“What is it? You look like you’re gonna pop a vein.”

“I do not,” she said. A dark finger curled even darker hair around itself. She just looked at him, and he got the sense that he was being scolded for something. Fine, if she wanted to play games, so did he.

“What’s _katra_?” He sprung, watching carefully.

Her hesitation seemed genuine. “I don’t know. I’ve heard it before…”

So Spock really hadn’t told her, either. Good. “And what about… _thyla_?”

This time there was something. A flash of recognition. “You mean _t’hai'la._ ”

Her pronunciation was more exact than his, and he was sure it was the right word. He nodded.

She pursed her lips. “Never heard of it.”

“What – bullshit! Tell me!”

“I should go,” she stood, and he got the distinct impression she was trying not to smile. “I guess you’ll be out of here tomorrow?”

“Yes. Then I’ll order you to tell me.”

“If you behave,” she poked his nose with her finger. “I’ll talk to Leonard about getting you out earlier. We’re getting drunk tonight. No arguments.”

Jim made a retching sound. “ _Please_ never call him that again.”

“Goodnight,” she smiled, but stopped at the door. “Jim?”

“Hm?”

“You’re used to being chased.” Her back was to him, but her voice was soft. “He won’t do that.”

_______________

The price for early release was two hypos to the neck and ass. He walked out on his own two feet, though, and it was before 1000 hours. A relative victory. He pulled his command gold shirt into place and went straight to the Commodore’s Deck. A guard led him through the twisting corridors to a large, white office.

“Captain Kirk,” a tall Human woman said warmly. Her face was tattooed in deep blue Maori markings, the white of her robes and hair contrasting nicely with her deep skin tones.

“Commodore Young.” He leaned over her desk to shake her hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“Please, call me Ana. Take a seat. May I have some coffee brought in?"

“I’m alright, but thank you.” He sat, looking around at the windows that offered sparkling views of the surrounding stars and docked ships.

“You had quite a close call.” She had a nice smile, and her demeanor was much more inviting than the other Commodores he had met. “From what I hear, Commander Spock handled everything exceptionally well.”

Obviously, she hadn’t talked to Bones. “Nothing less than what I expected. He’s the best First Officer I could hope for.”

She seemed happy with that answer. “He certainly is impressive. I met with him earlier today, and he proposed a complete overhaul to the current Starfleet Engineering computer programs, to better assure something like this won’t happen again.”

Jim tried to hide his wince. No one had told him about that. “A proposal I support one hundred percent. We’re just lucky no one died.”

“Starfleet offers its sincere apologies to you and your crew. I am personally honored to have you docked at Starbase 74, and welcome you and yours to stay for as long as you need to recover.”

“We appreciate it,” Jim nodded. “I hope to have some time to look around once I get caught up.”

“I won’t delay you further.” She stood and walked him to the door. “I do apologize for the brevity, but Commander Spock has tied up all the loose ends.”

Not all of them. “Thank you, Commodore.”

If he knew Spock like he thought he did, he’d be in a lab somewhere. Jim found a directory and headed toward Botany. It was surprising and humbling how many people seemed to recognize him. Those from his own ship inquired after his health, looking worried but relieved to see him out of Medical. He wondered just how much of the real story had been spread around.

Captains didn’t twist their fingers together like lovesick teenagers, he reminded himself. There had to be _some_ attempt to not display to the world the jarring, tectonic shift that had happened within. And he had no plan, of course. He just wanted to maybe apologize. Even getting Spock to argue with him would be less painful than the memory of him jerking his arm away and fleeing.

It was less busy than the higher floors had been, but there were enough people that Jim thought walking through the plant-filled room might draw more attention than he wanted. He stopped just outside the doors, peering in as someone left.

Spock was easy to find, tall as he was. He stood in front of a large container of soil with green sprouts protruding. As Jim watched, his pale hands reached out to rake gently through the dirt, pulling up the roots of one of the plants. The action was so tender and serene that Jim almost found it in him to walk forward. Then Spock stepped to the side, revealing the person standing next to him.

T’Maya said something, and Spock nodded, his lips moving silently. Jim wondered if they were speaking in Standard, or whispering their special little secret words to each other.

He stomped to the nearest terminal, typing in his series of numbers and finding his room assignment. Guest quarters were on the higher decks, Officer quarters just above them. He was beyond relieved he’d already called his mom and explained, because he didn’t think he had the energy to speak to anyone.

There were about a million reports waiting for him, so he sat at the small desk in his room and methodically worked through each one until his workload was completely done. For six hours, he thought of nothing else but the words in front of him.

__________________

Someone had just knocked on his door. He was pretty certain of that. Head throbbing, he had to pry his eyes open to take in the ambient lights. Morning. Very early morning. Early enough for whoever was at his door to be semi-important.

It wasn’t until he stumbled on the way to the bathroom that he realized he was still a little drunk. Shit.

Maybe he’d drunk a _little_ too much, but it had been fun. Scotty and Bones had knocked on his door around 2000 hours, dropping bottle after bottle of illicit drinks and mixers onto his desktop. The three of them were joined by Nyota, Christine and Hikaru, and Jim had found it very easy to reach such a state of drunkenness that sleep came without too much trouble.

Cold water from the sink cleared his head a little. Then he caught a whiff of his own breath and had to brush his teeth thoroughly. Rumors could follow his whole career – hundreds of cadets still called Admiral Homer _Halitosis Homer._

He kicked a stray bottle into the closet and shut it before tripping his way to the door and taking a deep breath to steady himself. Then he hit the door release and met Spock’s blank expression with his own.

“Captain,” he said, frowning at the state of Jim’s room. “We are expected in a meeting with the on-base Council about the update proposal.”

“What, _now?_ ”

“You have two point five three hours to prepare. Doctor McCoy informed me that you may be…unaware. Due to your gathering last night.”

“Just – “ Jim exhaled sharply, glancing down the crowded hall. “Just get in here.” He turned and walked toward the closet and peeled his sleep shirt off without waiting for a response. Fuck. He’d forgotten to be mad about the proposal. “This is the programming stuff you decided not to tell me about, right? So I could look like a moron in front of the Commodore?”

“It is doubtful that you would have been expected to know,” Spock said. His voice was strained in a way Jim couldn’t translate. “As you had been unconscious for over 48 hours. It is no matter. I am able to assist you in understanding the basics. I would not wish for you to feel disadvantaged in the meeting.”

Disadvantaged. There was a word. The meeting was a wrench in things. It was the first time Spock had sought him out since he’d been released. He’d have to fumble his way through an apology later, but for now he _did_ need to understand the proposal. Maybe Spock had planned it all out that way.

He pulled a command gold, off-duty sweater over his head and double-checked to make sure the pants he’d fallen asleep in were zipped.

“I take it you sent it over already?” Jim asked. Spock looked up from the floor.

“Yes. Have a seat, Captain.”

Jim raised his eyebrows, falling into the desk chair. There were new messages coming in hourly, but he found the one from Spock first and opened it. A glance at the storage data told him that the file was huge.

“Jesus,” he muttered. “You wrote this in two days?”

“Modified,” Spock corrected, coming up behind Jim’s back. “My corrections are in the minority. I will identify and explain the additions.”

Jim could have read and understood it on his own, but Spock being there to summarize made the process a lot faster. It was just – he kept leaning in with one arm clasped on the back of Jim’s chair, the other moving to point out something on the screen. He never touched Jim, but the way his voice was lowered, and the smell of strange, unfamiliar spices that wafted with every movement was almost just as distracting.

The haze of alcohol was lifting, slowly but surely. Despite the way it lingered in his blood, made him wonder what Spock did to his skin to make it smell like that. Focusing on the numbers was difficult. But he did it.

“Got it,” he said finally. Spock straightened and stepped back. “Let's head that way.”

“That would be prudent.”

He’d been doing a good job until it came time to put his shoes on. As he bent over to hold the tongue open, his balance tipped forward and he had to brace himself against the wall to get his foot in.

“You are inebriated,” Spock observed. Or accused. The first flicker of emotion in his eyes since he’d walked in, and it was anger. Fantastic.

“No, I’m not. Let’s go.”

Spock took a step toward him, which made Jim’s stomach flutter and twist. “This behavior is extremely inappropriate. Perhaps you should not attend the meeting.”

“Okay, whoa.” Jim stood his ground, drawing himself up to full height. “Just because I’m…in the _process_ of sobering up…doesn’t mean I’m drunk. And you don’t get to lecture _me_ about inappropriate behavior – “

“To what do you refer?”

“Oh,” Jim snorted, every plan for apologizing flying right through the top of his head. “ _’I’m having so much fun fixing the Warp Drive, Jim. It’s a game, it’s a puzzle, ooooh.’”_ Spock’s face only grew more stonelike as Jim gave his admittedly childish impression. “When all you _really_ wanted was to get here sooner so you could see T’Maya. Never mentioned _she’d_ be here, did you?”

Spock’s eyes closed for two long seconds, then he exhaled sharply as he fixed his gaze on Jim again. “If there is a question you would like to ask me, Jim, I suggest you cease with prevarication.”

 _Jim_. Finally. He blew out a breath, pondering. “When’s the wedding?”

“You wound me,” Spock said quietly. “There was a time where we could speak as equals, without the juvenile apparatus of sarcasm – “

“ _I’m_ juvenile?” Jim laughed without humor.

“You are, in fact, _the_ _most_ juvenile Hum – “

“ – ‘cause _you’re_ the one who won’t even _admit_ – “

“ – rather draw your own incorrect assumptions than ask for what would readily be given – “

“If you’re mad, Spock, just _say that you’re mad_.” Jim yelled. They’d drawn close together during the flurry of words, much closer than they usually stood. Spock looked down at him. The muscles in his neck were tight, and Jim scolded himself for noticing.

“I am not angry with you,” Spock said without intonation.

“You haven’t talked to me in almost a whole day. You – “ Jim swallowed, noticing, not for the first time, how perfect Spock’s lips were. “You didn’t come to the party.”

“Events dictated by circumstance.”

Jim pushed up onto the balls of his feet. “You think I don’t know when something’s wrong? It’s _me_ , Spock. I’m sorry, for whatever I said – “

“There is no more time for discussion.” Spock turned his head to the side, looking pointedly at the chronometer. Jim fell back with a sigh.

“If you say so.”

Spock cast his eyes up and shook his head a little, like Jim was some sort of invalid he’d been tasked with taking care of. “Then we shall not delay. Are you or are you not capable of donning your shoe?”

Jim looked down at his still-bare foot.

_________________

“…and this’ll recognize hydrogen sulfide, telluride, and cyanide?” Scotty asked, peering over at the PADD the Council member next to him was reading. Jim got the feeling he already knew the answer to that, but was asking leading questions that would make the proposal look good.

“And azide,” Jim offered when Spock was silent. “As well as any other harmful gases – even ones not usually native to a starship. Even if it’s just a trace amount, the computer will pick up on it.”

He’d been doing a lot of talking. Spock wasn’t one to brag, but – well. No, he kind of was. In his own way. It should be Spock answering the questions.

Maybe he was punishing Jim by making him squirm a bit with the more difficult spots. Only twice, when Jim hesitated too long, did Spock speak up with a cool, well-thought out answer. Scotty did as much as he could, but Jim knew it would be voted through no matter what, so he wasn’t too worried. Council meetings like this were just bureaucracy in action, and Jim, unfortunately, was a necessary cog in the machine.

The meeting was just over two hours. Jim was completely sober and starving, remembering Nyota mentioning something about Terran restaurants and pizza. Scotty drew his attention after the meeting ended.

“I don’t know, probably. I mean, it’s our proposal so it makes sense they’d use us as a proto – “ Jim caught sight of Spock striding out of the room. “Can we finish this in a bit?”

“Aye, go on, lad,” Scotty said. Jim didn’t know what he had to be so smiley about.

“Spock!” He called, half-running to catch up. “Slow down, you walk too fast.”

Spock came to a reluctant stop, clasping his hands behind his back. “Captain.”

“Hey.” Jim tried to slow his breathing. “Can we talk?”

The reply was immediate. “I am expected – “

“When are you free?”

Something moved, sending a strange ripple of emotion across Spock’s face. “It is unclear at this time – “

“Okay – shh!” Jim snapped, ignoring the raised eyebrow aimed at him. He wanted to just give up, go get some work done or hang out with someone who actually _wanted_ to spend time with him. But Nyota’s voice niggled in the back of his head. _You’re used to being chased. He won’t do that._

“Here’s what I’m gonna do,” Jim started, lowering his voice. “I’ll be at your lab at 2200 hours tonight. You can either come eat with me, or you can tell me to hit the road – but I’ll be there. Sound good?”

Spock looked taken aback. “I can hardly stop you.”

“No,” Jim said, smiling at Spock’s confusion. “You can’t. See ya then.”

All he got was a curt nod. He really couldn’t tell what Spock felt about it, or if he felt anything at all. The next several hours in the gym distracted him. He and Scott worked out together, then joined Sulu and Ensign Simmons for a few rounds of volleyball. Jim’s neglected muscles welcomed the challenge.

When it felt like enough for one day, he showered in the locker room. A quick glance in the mirror before a sonic shower showed arm muscles that were just beginning to bulge again, and of course his back was a work of art. It was a welcome boost in confidence as he went about his day.

Bones replicated him something offensively green in his quarters, instead of pouring the usual two fingers. Jim allowed himself to be scanned while sitting on his bed. It was slightly better than having to do it in Medical, even if the hypos he’d gotten there were decidedly more gentle.

“You’re in a good mood,” Bones noticed, sipping his own green sludge. Jim downed half of his, starving and eager for the persistent headache to fade.

“Nice to get some exercise. What have you been doing?”

“Looked over the Sick Bay updates you approved. Escapes me how a damn fool like you is authorized to tell me – “

“You’ve been _begging_ to update Sick Bay!”

“Fine, fine,” Bones waved a hand, changing his tune immediately. “We’ll need it, anyhow. Places like this are a damn cesspool of germs. I guarantee we’ll have a flu outbreak within the month.”

“Hope not,” Jim yawned and pulled a pillow under his head, content to listen to Bones’ ramblings for a few hours. The only time he really paid attention was when Spock’s name came up.

“Spock?” He said, holding his head up. Bones rolled his eyes.

“I said the guy can’t seem to focus on anything. Stared at a PADD for a full ten minutes without being able to remember a thing he’d read.”

“Weird,” Jim hummed. Bones raised his eyebrows mutinously. “I think he’s just really worried about the state of Sick Bay.”

“Right,” Bones sighed, looking at him strangely. “Sick Bay.”

Jim stayed with him until he had to go – meeting Nyota for dinner. Jim made sure to take note of where they were going, so he and Spock didn’t end up at the same place. He was fairly certain Spock would go with him. If he flat-out refused, well…well, he’d cross that bridge when he got there.

The Lab Deck was darkened at this time of night. There were only a few stragglers, and none of them were Human. Jim gave nods and waves, until he was alone and he didn’t have to pretend. Nerves churned his stomach as he stepped cautiously toward the main Lab doors.

Spock was alone in a far corner. He bent down toward a line of sprouts. Jim couldn’t see exactly what he was doing, but Spock had an amazing ass. He let himself stare for a moment, wondering why no one else talked about how hot Spock was. Surely they did, and it was just that Jim was Captain, and it would be inappropriate to mention in front of him.

He stepped through the door and looked around, curious at the vast degree of scents that assaulted his nose. His allergies were unpredictable at best, and he hated hypos so much that at some point he’d just started avoiding places like this.

It was _gorgeous_ , though. Instead of walking straight toward his target, he turned left, stopping in front of a line of vibrant pink flowers. They smelled like cherry juice, or something equally fruity and tart. He held one hand up, running his fingers along the underside of a petal. Like a succulent Terran plant, it was heavy and flesh-like, warm to the touch.

The plant next to the flowers was a series of short, black stalks. They could have been bamboo, but he could see minute vibrations that warned him away from touching any one of them outright. There were a shocking amount of planets with carnivorous flora, something Spock was constantly reminding him of.

Jim didn’t realize how long he’d been distracted until the row ended, stopping short when he realized he was being watched.

“I did not want to interrupt,” Spock said almost self-consciously, straightening from where he’d been leaning back against the counter with his arms crossed. “You rarely expend your attention on so worthy a subject as nature.”

Jim worked his way over, trying not to rush. Every plant stood out to him differently, with its appearance or scent or movement. Spock watched him the entire time, and the whole scene felt to Jim like an old fairy tale. A Human boy getting lost in the forest, guided home by some elven prince.

He might have said something, but Spock absolutely hated being compared to an elf.

“What are those?” He found himself asking, looking around a distractingly well-developed chest.

“ _Adun_. Cacti native to Vulcan.” Spock turned around so they could both regard the sprouts. “The younglings you see now are growing amidst New Vulcan soil. They are the first of their kind.”

There was a note of fierce pride in Spock’s voice, one that Jim had heard very seldom. “I…that’s incredible.”

“It was not without a considerable amount of trial and error.”

“Probably less error than you’re willing to admit.” Jim looked over his shoulder, at the dark rooms that led off from the main one. “Is T’Maya around? She should come eat with us.”

It was less an act of good-will and more a play for that surprised-but-not face that Spock made sometimes. But he just blinked at Jim. “T’Maya has retired for the evening.”

Jim pushed his hands into his pockets. “Too bad. You hungry?”

Spock stared at the cacti. “I have not consumed sustenance yet today.”

“Come with me,” Jim urged, following the lines of Spock’s biceps with his eyes. “Have you ever had pizza?”

Spock gripped the tabletop. “I have not.”

“Okay.” Jim looked at the tightness of his hands, juxtaposing that to the blankness of his face. “You sure you don’t need to be here?”

“I am able to accompany you.” Spock pulled his hands behind his back and followed Jim out. “The chances of you changing your mind about this particular plan were less than fifteen percent. I prepared my schedule accordingly.”

“You’ll like it.” Jim glanced over as they rode the turbolift toward the commercial areas. “I mean, I don’t know a Human who doesn’t.”

Spock was stoic, as ever, and Jim enjoyed an unusual bout of self-doubt. “Are you still interested in…the Human culture stuff? If you aren’t, that’s fine. It was just an idea, anyway. Have you finished any more crosswords?”

God, there he went with the babbling.

“I am no less interested. For the time being, I remain busy enough to keep me from such pursuits as crosswords.”

The main leisure areas were more crowded, so they only talked about ship business until they were seated in a corner of the pizza restaurant. Jim busied himself with the menu, only glancing over when he thought Spock wasn’t looking. He didn’t look nervous or anything – Jim could just tell there was something off.

“Do you like banana peppers?”

“It is unlikely.” Spock frowned. “Vulcans do not incorporate vegetables of such high Scoville units – “

“Alright, calm down. We can just do cheese. Vulcans can eat cheese, right?”

“…yes.”

Jim nodded and ordered a cheese pizza with garlic. The waiter took their menus and disappeared, leaving a great big gaping quiet in his wake. They didn’t usually struggle to make conversation.

“Shame T’Maya couldn’t come,” he tried. “Is she as funny as you are?”

Spock’s chest expanded in a deep breath. “Vulcans to not possess great comedic influence.”

“Some do,” Jim smiled, pulling one foot up on the padded seat. As much as Spock liked to hide it, he was _funny_. “But I guess it’s a good match, otherwise?”

Brown eyes widened. “In what ways is it a desirable match?”

“Oh… you know.” Jim sipped his water, thinking. He didn’t know if he could balance his own feelings with polite interest about T’Maya for very long. “You can speak your native language with her, obviously. Don’t have to worry about, y’know, too much in the way of illogic. And she’s very pretty.”

“I have no native language,” Spock said, tilting his head to the side. “Standard and Vulcan were taught in tandem in my household. As for physical appearance, it is mental compatibility that is held in higher favor among Vulcans.”

Jim squinted in the low light, unsure if the light green tint to Spock’s ears was imagined or not. “So you aren’t…that? With her?”

“The meld was satisfactory. T’Maya is simply not an ideal bondmate.”

Bondmate. Another Vulcan-y thing Jim had only heard snippets of. “What is the ideal?”

“Every Vulcan is betrothed at the age of seven Terran years. You are aware of this.”

Jim winced, remembering that Spock’s ex-girlfriend (or was it fiancé?) hadn’t survived Vulcan. T’Pika or something like that. “I am.”

“It is rare that this bond is broken on non-fatal grounds.” Spock dropped his gaze for a second, and Jim had to force himself to not ask any of the burning questions pushing their way up. “For it is _exceedingly_ rare for a Vulcan to happen across their ideal bondmate. Perfectly compatible, in every sense.”

Jim ran his fingers through his hair, failing to find anything to look at that wasn’t Spock’s now-intense stare. “Well, I guess it would be if you’re married off as a kid. Why don’t you just date each other?”

“There are many reasons.” Spock’s nose twitched. Jim was pretty sure he’d never seen Spock’s _nose_ twitch before. “To maintain order, chiefly. It would be illogical to spend time and resources searching for a hypothetical bondmate, when one could just as easily be appointed during childhood.”

“Right, so – “ Jim found he didn’t want to hear any more about Spock’s hypothetical future girlfriends. “A bond is different from a meld?”

“It is.”

“Were you and Uhura ever bonded?”

Spock’s mouth tightened, and his eyes looked everywhere but at Jim. He figured that their conversation had firmly entered the Vulcan _we do not speak of it_ grounds. “No.”

“Why not?’

Their food arrived, stalling Spock’s answer as a large pizza took up the space between them. Jim’s stomach gave a violent shout, and he had an entire slice down before Spock had managed to settle his own onto one of the plates provided. All without touching it.

“It’s finger food, ‘Pock,” Jim said, swallowing and brandishing one grease and tomato sauce covered hand. “You can hold it.”

“I am familiar with the Human disregard for etiquette. There is no need to incorporate it into your teachings.”

Jim watched him cut into the pizza with a fork and knife, bringing the first bite to his sinfully perfect mouth.

“How is it?” He asked as Spock chewed delicately.

“I find it…overwhelming,” he answered, staring down at his slice without cutting into it again. “There is no plant native to Vulcan that produces such an intense flavor profile.”

“You don’t like the garlic?” Jim examined the pizza. Yeah, they had gone kind of heavy with it. “Here. Pass me your plate.”

With one finger, Spock pushed it closer. Jim held the crust with one hand and used his fork to scrape the topmost layer of cheese and garlic off. He’d been a picky kid, and there were several years where he would only eat his pizza with the cheese pulled off. Just bread and sauce.

Spock raised an eyebrow as Jim pushed his plate back. He didn’t need to know that it was generally just children that ate pizza like that, and Jim doubted he would continue to eat it if he did. So he just watched as Spock took another, hesitant bite.

“Is that any better?”

Spock’s cheeks colored. He looked at Jim with a mix of surprise and vulnerability that Jim tried to pretend didn’t wreck him completely. “It is improved.”

Well, that was as close to a thank you as Jim would get, so he nodded his satisfaction and continued to stuff his face. It was really good pizza. New York style wasn’t quite the same in space, but it had been made in a kitchen with Human hands, and that made all the difference. Spock looked at the mess he was making and pointedly handed him a napkin when Jim sat back, full to bursting. Together, they’d managed to eat the entire thing.

“What now?” Jim asked, leaving some credits on the table for a tip. They walked back into the main arcade together, turning aimlessly toward the quieter observation areas.

“It seemed as though you had something specific in mind when you arranged this dinner.” Spock’s voice was soft. His footsteps ambled instead of strode, so that he didn’t outpace Jim. “I would not guess that it has come to pass.”

“Oh, yeah.” Jim had forgotten that he’d essentially forced Spock into this. They passed beneath a large window set in the ceiling. “I just wanted to say sorry. I shouldn’t have grabbed you like that after I woke up. And before…”

“There is no need for apology.” Spock looked up at the glass, his face lit dimly by the far off lights. “I have grown accustomed to your personality. Should you have intended offense, it would have been obvious.”

“Good. So if it wasn’t me being an idiot that has you so worked up?”

After a second, Spock looked away from the window, finding Jim’s eyes easily. They were totally alone, not standing as close as Jim would have liked but still fairly near each other. Jim couldn’t help it – he gravitated to Spock.

“If you have said your piece, Jim, I would like to say mine.”

Jim leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms. “Alright.”

“When T’Maya approached me on Kostolain, it was with the intention of proposing a marriage bond.”

Jim's nails cut into his palms.

“Touching hands as we did was…rather unorthodox, but necessary to convey her intentions wordlessly. It was that evening on her ship that I explained the situation more fully.”

“Situation?” Jim breathed.

“I must commend her logic,” Spock said, his mouth twitching. “T’Maya does not desire a permanent life in the colony. A marriage bond with me would be unobtrusive, as we both live transient lives. Childcare would fall completely to her – “

“She wanted to have _kids_ with you?” Jim blurted.

“It is a duty every adult Vulcan must face,” Spock said plainly. “We are a fraction of our former population. I am not…entirely averse to the idea of furthering my lineage. Though if it were a matter of choice, I could easily say that I did not prefer it.”

Jim stomach twisted with horror, and Spock’s voice grew hesitant and almost awkward.

“It…it fell to me to inform T’Maya that my status as a hybrid precludes me from reproducing. The time it would take to recreate the type of scientific measures used in my own conception would be ample enough for her to bond and carry the child of another Vulcan to full term.”

Jim knew he was grimacing. This felt like getting the sex talk from his mother – way too medical and just _weird._

“Those inescapable facts, though, were not enough to completely deter her interest. Her attraction to me was not solely based on logic.”

Spock sounded vaguely amused by that.

“How terrible,” Jim muttered sarcastically. “Is it really so shocking that she wanted to bone you? Aren’t you, like, _the_ Vulcan bad boy?”

He expected – hoped – to make Spock blush again. But his eyebrows drew together sharply. “Vulcans do not engage in casual sexual relationships. Which brings me to my second point.”

He stepped closer, crowding Jim against the wall. Because he was a grown adult in command of a starship, he did not whimper.

“For all intents and purposes, the relationship between Nyota and I was Human in nature. It would be impossible for me to willingly engage in a bond with one whom I did not intend to stay bonded to for the rest of my life. Only a _t_ – a soul bond would supersede such a thing. They form spontaneously."

“O-okay,” Jim looked away from the bob of Spock’s throat. He’d only caught about half of that, honestly. Information dumps triggered his ADD big time. “So that’s why you like humans so much. Kinky.”

Spock tried to hide a flash of despair behind a blank wall. Automatic guilt punched Jim in the stomach as he tried to figure out what he’d said wrong. Again.

“Do not speak,” Spock said harshly as Jim opened his mouth. “All precedent informs me that you will say nothing of value.”

“I – hey! What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Spock’s volume raised to match his. “It is impossible to reach understanding with you when everything you say is veiled in irony and epigram – "

“For your information,” Jim snapped, pushing off the wall. “I was trying to be sincere with you, tonight. What the _hell_ is an epigram?”

Spock clenched his jaw. “A rhetorical device meant to convey sentiment indirectly.”

“So what, Spock? I don’t know big words like you do, so I’m an idiot?” He knew he was twisting Spock’s words, and that he would never outright – 

“Yes,” Spock breathed murderously. “ _V’tosh ek’ka’tur.”_

“ _What_ did you call me?”

Spock turned as though to leave, and Jim grabbed his arm. Before he was entirely sure of what happened, he was pushed so roughly against the wall that he made a loud, embarrassing sound of surprise.

“You are completely without logic, James Kirk,” Spock hissed. Jim gasped, struggling with anger, a little fear, and plenty of arousal at the way Spock had just said his full name. “Do not seek me out again while we are on leave.”

Blinking hard, Jim watched him go. Then he turned and drove his fist into the steel wall until he felt something give.

_______________

“What the _fuck_ did you do, you imbecile?” Bones asked, stepping aside to let him in. The insult was warm coming from Bones. Not harsh and terrible like when Spock said it.

At least Nyota wasn’t there. Jim would have been turned away and forced to go to Starbase Medical. He didn’t know how he would have explained this to anyone else.

“It’s Spock.” He held his right hand at the wrist, trying to move his index finger and wincing as pain shot up to his shoulder. Bones looked up from his carry bag, mouth wide.

“You _punched_ him?”

“No,” Jim said quickly. “I punched the wall.”

Bones made him sit and waved a tricorder over his arm. “Three broken bones. What did he say to you?”

“Do you have any booze?” Jim asked hopefully. Without pausing in his search for another instrument, Bones produced a medium-sized bottle of bourbon. Jim downed as much as he could before he gagged. “Fuck. Ugh.”

“This is gonna hurt. I don’t have painkillers on hand.” Bones kneeled in front of him with a bone-knitter. “I suggest you talk through the pain.”

“Fine.” Jim took another sip and sat back in the chair, extending his hand as far as he could without hurting himself. “He just – I don’t even know how to explain it. It’s like he can’t even be civil with me anymore. I’m too stupid for him, or something.”

“Well,” Bones said cheerfully. Jim grit his teeth against the sudden pain of his bones growing back together. “That’s twice in a week I’ve agreed with him. What did you do to get that green blood boiling?”

“I, um – _shit,_ Bones, you didn’t need to jerk it like that.”

“Shut your trap. You were sayin’?”

Jim sighed sharply and tried to remember exactly where everything turned. “He was lecturing me about Vulcan stuff, and then I made a _little_ joke. Barely more than, like, a pun. He flipped and started calling me illogical. Not that that’s a huge change.”

“No, it’s not. What was he saying? Before you made the joke?”

Jim shifted. “He was telling me why he never bonded with Nyota.”

Bones heaved a sigh and pressed a button on the tricorder. “Why’s that?”

“They didn’t have a…” Jim sucked the inside of his cheek as his pinkie bones were forced back together painfully. “A soul bond. I think.”

“Like soulmates,” Bones grunted, looking intently down at the knitter. Jim narrowed his eyes.

“Did you really just say that? Nothing about Vulcan voodoo – or mind control?”

“It’s not my – okay, fine.” He hit a button, and the pain in Jim’s hand disappeared. Bones started gently bending his fingers to test the former breaks. “It is a load of garbage, of course. But the elf obviously believes in it. Maybe…maybe he was tryin’ to tell you somethin’. For all their posturing, Vulcans ain’t too direct. Probably hurt his feelings that you made fun of him – which – “ He held up a hand to stop Jim’s argument. “We both know you’re prone to doing. You mean well, usually, but it’s the _way_ you say things that gets people all bothered. That unique, Jim Kirk way o’ talking.”

Jim slumped his head back against the seat. Maybe Bones was right. All that stuff had seemed more personal than Spock usually allowed. But Jim hadn’t been _making fun_ of him! It was just…a verbal segue.

“He called me an idiot,” Jim groused into the bourbon. “He’s never even called _you_ that. Not so directly, anyway.”

Bones chuckled and whisked the bottle away. “I bet that chafes.”

“And he told me not to talk to him again. While we’re on leave.”

At this, Bones’ eyebrows hit his hairline.

“I’ll listen. If he wants me to stay away, I’ll do it. It’s just…” He pouted. “I hate it when he’s mad at me.”

“My God, man.” Bones tossed the bottle back with a grimace. “Get out of here before I vomit. And _don’t_ come back to me with any more injuries, or I’ll put you both in time out.”

______________________

Jim went against his better judgement and did _not_ go look for Spock first thing in the morning. Instead, he got up at first light – 0600 – and went to the gym. He’d been drinking a lot, and it was bound to catch up sooner or later if he didn’t take care of himself.

It was a weird feeling, in the back of his head, that made him look. One of the padded exercise and sparring rooms on the way to the treadmills had a pair of people inside. Jim stopped to watch, eyes wide.

Spock and T’Maya were doing that Vulcan martial art that Spock used to do on the ship. Only he used to practice alone. Now T’Maya was with him, wearing tight spandex in lieu of her usual robes. She was tiny and slender, but there was a lot of strength there. As Jim watched, she reached up to try and wrap one arm around Spock’s neck. He moved away impossibly fast and did something to her arm that made it go limp at her side.

What made it so creepy was that their faces were totally blank, even when T’Maya hooked a foot around Spock’s knee and pulled, collapsing his leg and forcing him into a half-kneel. Just when Jim thought Spock was done for, he grabbed her by the waist and used his weight to slam her into the mat. They were almost pressed together, but not quite. It was over before two seconds had passed, but the sight of Spock’s hands on _her_ , like _that_ , had something very ugly pressing against Jim’s chest.

Then Spock looked at him. Their eyes met as he was getting to his feet, and open surprise flitted across his face. Jim didn’t know what to do – he felt equally frozen. The feeling that had made him look in the first place seemed to…shiver. It sent chills down his back.

T’Maya said something as she got to her feet. The words were muffled and distant, but Jim could clearly see Spock turn his back to the door and nod to her. They continued to spar. Feeling sick to his stomach, Jim continued shakily to the room lined with treadmills.

Spock said he didn’t like T’Maya. He said Vulcans didn’t _do_ casual sex. So why was Jim so _jealous_? Black, bottomless jealousy surged and roiled in his stomach. Even jogging couldn’t take his mind off of it.

Fine. Fine! He would just have to not think about it. At all. Forever.

Distraction came in the form of a message from Kostolain that night. Jim read over the Culmination decision in the dark quiet of his room.

The Ferengi ship crew had been sentenced, he read with relief. Five years in Federation prison. The jury had sided against them, and so had the judges. Their opinion even had some of the very points Jim had argued.

He checked the databases and saw that the group of one hundred and twenty Ferengi female captives were still living on Kostolain in the interim. As quickly as possible, he typed a message offering the _Enterprise’s_ services in shuttling them back to their home planet. It was the least he could do after the disaster of a Convening.

He sent Spock a perfunctory message about it. And even though he tried not to, he checked every few minutes for an answer.

None came.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun’uh na’nash-veh - "Come back. Answer me."


	4. Overtime

It came through three days later. Kostolain had approved of Jim’s offer, the mission running all the way up the chain of command before being passed back down to Commodore Young and into the PADD Jim was holding. With Warp back on track, they’d be to Ferenginar with the group of one hundred and twenty females inside of three days. They were due to leave the Starbase the next morning.

“You will leave here with the program update in place,” Commodore Young told them, sipping a mug of coffee. Beyond her office windows, Jim could see the _Enterprise_ floating among the stars. Waiting. “There’s a reader installed in Main Engineering, so the next time you stop at a Starbase, the Engineers there will take it out and check everything thoroughly. If all goes well, we can expect a full implementation in two to three months.”

“That sounds really good,” Jim built the timeline in his head. Surprisingly fast, for Starfleet.

“How about it, Commander?” Young asked. Jim turned reluctantly toward Spock, who inclined his head.

“Satisfactory.”

She shared a look with Jim, who forced a weak smile. “Alright, then. If you need anything else, let me know. Good luck, men.”

“Thank you.” Jim shook her hand, only waiting for Spock to seem polite.

They walked down the corridor together in total silence. Outside of what little business there was, they hadn’t spoken since Spock told Jim to leave him alone. Three days of radio silence.

“Guest quarters are being prepared,” Spock said in the turbolift. “The Ferengi will be expected to wear clothing while on board, which is also being prepared. They will be delivered on-planet – following custom – without clothing.”

Jim grit his teeth, staring straight ahead. “Alright.”

“It is not for us to interrogate them about their experience.”

That shocked Jim into looking up. He regretted it immediately – Spock was so perfect that it made the empty feeling in Jim’s chest pulse painfully. “Wasn’t planning on it.”

Spock’s eyebrows twitched. “You cannot lie to me.”

Jim’s heart stuttered at the words, even if the voice that delivered them was completely flat. He hated himself for being so weak, and he hated Spock for making him feel that way. As soon as the doors opened, he walked away as fast as he could.

_____________________

Jim boarded the ship as soon as he could. He’d miss the good food on base, but finally having back his authority to make things happen eased a little of his tension. It wasn’t quite perfect, not with him and Spock still on the outs, but it was a return to some semblance of normalcy.

“System check, Ensign.”

He’d only seen Chekov a few times on base – he’d been helping with the Drive turnover and probably hadn’t actually rested all that much.

“Everything in order, Keptin.”

“Sulu?”

“Course set for Kostolain. Warp Four’ll get us there in just over fifteen minutes.”

“Make it Warp Seven,” Jim said. “No point in breaking her in easy.”

Sulu smiled, nodding. “Travel time downgraded to three minutes, sir.”

“O-kay.” Jim walked over to Nyota’s station. “They know we’re coming, right?”

“Yes, Captain. I’m sending the updated ETA now.”

He drummed his fingers on a railing. “Exceptional work, as always, Lieutenant.”

Her fingers paused in their rapid pressing of buttons. She gave him an incredulous look. “Sir?”

“I just figured I better start sucking up to you.” He leaned in a little. “Since you’re my doctor-in-law.”

“Oh,” she sighed. “This again. Is it just me, Kirk? Or are you after _everyone’s_ personal business like a dog with a bone?”

“I’m just looking out for my friend.” He mocked a stern expression. “If you hurt him, I swear I – “

“You’ll what? Talk me to death?” She pushed his finger away, smirking. “Get away from me. I’m trying to work.”

“Fine.” He returned to his chair, listening as everyone else prepared to leave dock. Bones and Spock were working together to administer pyrocite immunizations to every single crew member, just in case any of their soon-to-be passengers were carriers of the Ferengi-specific cell. Which meant Bones would be irritable until the threat of a breakout had passed, and Spock would be irritable because he’d spent so much time with Bones.

“Immunizations finished, Captain,” Nyota called after a long while. “I have the go-ahead from Doctor McCoy.”

 _You certainly do._ “Helm, Warp Seven on stand-by.”

“Warp ready.”

Jim braced himself. “Engage.”

Thankfully, nothing audibly clanked or screeched as they shifted into Warp. Though they’d be arriving a little sooner than planned, Kostolain had everything timed to a T. The _Enterprise_ stopped in orbit, beamed the Ferengi aboard, and they were on the way to Ferenginar within the hour. No pointless diplomacy. Jim didn’t even have to get out of his chair.

“Shifting to Warp Nine, Captain,” Sulu said as Jim gave the command. “Course projection at two days fourteen hours.”

“Thank you, Helm.” Jim looked over as Spock exited the turbolift. “Commander, you have the comm.”

“Yes, Captain.”

Jim walked past him without making eye contact, going down to Sick Bay. Bones and Christine were filling a test tube tray with what Jim assumed were more pyrocite treatments. He knocked on the doorframe.

“Hey, I’m about to go down there. Can you give me something to take away my sense of smell?”

Bones wiped his hands on his pants and nodded, pulling out a tray on the other side of the room. “I’ll go with you.”

Ferengi emitted a faint, sort of fermented smell that most species with olfactory glands found – not to be too xenophobic – repulsive. Jim was fairly sensitive to smells, and he didn’t want to offend anyone.

Bones handed him a tube. “Rub that under your nose.”

Jim squeezed a small amount onto his finger, and rubbed the clear goo just under his nostrils. It smelled like nothing, so he supposed it was working. Bones did the same.

“You ever seen a Ferengi?” Jim asked him.

“No. Hear they’re a pain in the ass.”

That did seem to be the general consensus with those who had dealt with them. Ferengi culture was capitalistic in the extreme. All they valued was profit, with no regard to how something was obtained so long as someone made money. A reminder of the old days on Earth.

On top of that, their disposition tended to be described as _annoying._ But those were the men, and these were women. Jim had heard nothing about them. Maybe they would be different.

Every available Yeoman was down in the transporter rooms, handing around plain black tunics to the naked Ferengi. Their bodies were different enough from Humans that Jim didn’t feel _too_ uncomfortable – after all, this was normal for them – but he was still enraged. Not only did they not have rights on their planet, they weren’t allowed to wear _clothes._

Their large lobed ears were extremely sensitive, so every one of them standing near the door turned when he and Bones entered. The rest of the crowd caught on pretty quickly, and soon all eyes were on Jim.

“Captain!” Janice, Jim’s yeoman, hurried over, a mountain of fabric piled over one arm. “We’ve been expecting you.” She turned to address the room. “This is our Captain, everyone! Captain Kirk.”

Jim glanced over at Bones’ smirk. “Hello,” he called, projecting his voice. A few of the women winced, so he tried to modulate. “We’re glad to have you aboard the _Enterprise_. Just so you’re aware of what will be happening, we’re set to arrive at Ferenginar in a little over two days. There, you’ll be transported down to the Tower of Commerce, and the officials there will help you with relocation and settlement.”

At least, that’s what the Alliance had told Starfleet. “Any questions?”

Reading the room was proving difficult. Their faces weren’t blank, but he had no idea how he was being recieved. No one said anything. It was just a mass of vibrant red skin against dark fabric.

“Until we arrive, you have free roam of the ship. What you’ve been through…well, I’m sure it’s been extremely difficult.” He hesitated, making sure to meet as many blue eyes as he could. “Please let me know _personally_ if there’s anything I can do to help.”

“Alright,” Janice clapped her hands together. “We’ll go show you your rooms. Groups of ten, okay?”

The other Yeomen stepped forward, and Bones and Jim moved out of the way.

“What are you planning?” Bones asked suspiciously, setting his shoulder against the wall. Jim shook his head, wondering if he was terribly obvious, or if Bones and Spock just knew him that well. “Nothing illegal, I hope.”

“Oh, McCoy, you know better than anyone I never _plan_. I just…do things.”

Bones harrumphed.

“Captain!” A Yeoman jogged up to them. Jim looked past him at one last group of Ferengi lingering in the center of the room.

“Yeoman Anderson,” Jim greeted, pulling the name out of his ass. “Is there a problem?”

He hesitated, then nodded, motioning with his head toward the group. “They refused to be shown out. They want to talk with you.”

“Okay.” Jim nodded for Bones to follow. “Stand-by.”

As they approached the group – made up of maybe fifteen women – one of them stepped forward and thrust her hand out. Jim had to bend down a little to shake, because the tops of their heads only reached about mid-chest.

“James Kirk,” he introduced himself again. “This is Doctor McCoy, my Chief Medical Officer.”

Bones shook her hand. “Pleased to meet ‘ya.”

When there was nothing else, Jim pushed a little. “And your name is…?”

“Fon-Vox.” Her voice was low and hoarse. He had to lean in to hear.

“Formerly,” another woman corrected. The one who’d shaken their hands nodded.

“Yes. Now I am Fon.”

“I don’t understand,” Jim admitted.

“Our husband, Vox, was sentenced to prison. We will have to remarry once we arrive on Ferenginar.”

“Oh.” Jim knew Ferengi men took a lot of wives. Not _this_ many. “All of you were married to him?”

“Only ten,” Fon said. “Our husbands made up the crew.”

Some husband, Jim thought uncharitably. “I hear you don’t want to be seen to your rooms.”

“There are matters to discuss that would upset the others. They did not wish to hear our ideas. They think we are traitors.”

Jim looked around at their determined faces. “What ideas would that be?”

She didn’t hesitate, drawing herself up to her full height. “The Ferengi Alliance was aware of the plan of Vox. We would not have been the first to be sold away, and there will be more.”

Jim kept his face carefully blank, feeling Bones’ eyes on him. Spock was right, and so was he – Jim _was_ planning on asking questions. Now, he didn’t have to.

Fon looked between the two of them. “Ferenginar does not honor such values as justice. The slave trade had been extremely lucrative, which bolsters the economy.” Here the other women nodded almost appreciatively. One of them smiled, showing tiny, sharp teeth. “There is no recourse for us on Ferenginar. We submit ourselves to the mercy of the Federation in our request to not return.”

So it wasn’t just one ship. Ferenginar was knowingly engaging in slave trade. That definitely complicated things – specifically their beneficial relationship with the Federation. It was almost impossibly more complicated that this group didn’t _want_ to go back to their planet. It wasn’t part of the mission, and Jim didn’t have the authority to override orders like that.

“Telling me this must have been a difficult decision,” he said slowly, very careful not to make any promises. “I’ll see what can be done. Until then, please make yourselves at home.”

Fon recognized the dismissal, and smiled wanly. Jim waited until they’d left with Yeoman Anderson before he turned for the lifts.

“What are you thinkin’, Jim?” Bones kept up, hands in his pockets.

It rankled, but… “I need to talk to Spock. He’s a walking Regulations book.”

“Well, tell me ASAP what you decide, because these immunizations will only last three days. If we’re gonna have the Ferengi any longer than that I need to make more.” Bones turned left at the lifts, throwing Jim a glare. “And _don’t_ punch anything.”

Jim ignored him, stepping inside. “Computer, page Commander Spock to the ready room.”

He never spent much time on Deck Two. The labs were better off without him, generally, and the ready room was too fancy and impersonal for his taste. He only used it for Code Reds or diplomatic meetings. But now it was nice to have a quiet place to pace back and forth.

“Captain.” There was a question in Spock’s voice as he stepped inside.

“I was right. It is slave trade.”

“You did not heed my warning against interrog – “

“I didn’t even ask! They told me outright. They were being sold.” Jim threw his hands up. “The Alliance knows about it, too! Who knows how long they’ve been getting away with it?” He turned at the viewscreen, striding back to the table and turning again. “We need to call Admiral Bovet.”

“Hearsay is not admissible as evid – “

“I don’t need a lecture,” Jim said irritably. “And there’s more. Some of them don’t want to go back. They’re scared.”

“This was said to you?”

“Yeah. They asked for help.”

Silence. Jim stopped pacing and crossed his arms, waiting for Spock to come to a conclusion. He was just standing there – Jim could basically see the _loading_ bar across his face.

Finally, he blinked. “You propose an appeal on the basis of asylum.”

Jim nodded. “Yeah. Can that be done?”

Spock sat at the table, picking up a PADD. “Book Seven, Section 455 of Federation Regulation states that a starship may be used for purposes of asylum only under threat of invasion or cross-planetary war.”

“There has to be _some_ precedent against that. There’s just no way it’s never happened.” Jim clutched the back of an empty chair. Sitting and searching aimlessly would take up way too much time. “What if we called Pike?”

“Admiral Pike has no jurisdiction over these events. He resides in the Terran quad – ”

“I _know_ that,” Jim grit out. “But he might have some insight.”

Spock nodded shortly. “It is possible.”

“Computer,” Jim said, pacing again. “Kirk to Lieutenant Uhura.”

“Uhura here.”

“See what we can do to talk to Pike. Soon.”

“On it, sir.”

She paged back a few minutes later. Pike was in a meeting, but his secretary would relay the message as soon as he was out.

“What about…” He paced around behind Spock, brain in overdrive. “What about a Captain’s authority where time sensitivity is concerned?”

“You have none. Our passengers are not hostages, and a span of sixty-one hours lies outside the scope of time sensitivity.”

If Ferenginar was slaving, they certainly wouldn’t be stupid enough to keep any record of it. Because they received grants from the Federation, they had to make all of their expense reports – with anyone – available. And that was the crux. Fon’s word wasn’t enough, and precedent might not be enough, either. Jim didn’t have many options. If he couldn’t find a way to keep them from going back to their planet – some kind of proof – they would be sold right back into slavery or worse.

Not to mention every other person who was being sold in the meantime.

“Vulcan never had slavery, did they?” Jim asked, throwing himself into the chair next to Spock’s. Spock had been bent over the screen for the better part of an hour, speeding through various documents.

“Not in an organized sense.”

Jim scrubbed at his face, leaning forward and dropping his head to the cool surface of the table. “Well, it happens all the time on Earth. It’s always happened."

Somewhere on Earth, at any given moment, someone was being subjugated because of their race, or gender, or age. Lots of cultures had that failing, but it seemed uniquely Human, sometimes. "Maybe we are barbarians, after all. Like you always say.”

There was a short lull, muted voices in the hall moving past the door. Jim willed his brain to stop buzzing, but he knew from experience that it wouldn't.

“A civilization with high propensity for evil must also have a high potential for great good.”

Jim sat back up, chewing his lip. “What are you trying to say?”

“I need not ‘try’ to say anything. It is said.”

“So, what, you think Ferenginar will just work it out over time? That’s a nice thought, but these wom – _females_ are here now. They need us _now._ ”

“I share the sentiment.”

“Hm.” Jim tapped his fingers on the table top. “Found anything?”

“Directive 101.4 allows for the immediate relocation of any species whose planet is in imminent danger of destruction by an outside force.”

Well, they all knew about that one. “Amazing. If only Nero had gone to Ferenginar first.”

There was a pointed silence. Spock still looked at his screen, but his finger paused in its scrolling.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

“You did not,” Spock decided. He started scrolling again. “You merely wish to start an argument.”

Well, _now_ he did. “No, I don’t.”

“You can no longer focus on the task at hand, and the anxiety produced by your attention deficit disorder drives you to release your tension on the nearest subject. In this particular case, it is myself.”

Jim opened his mouth, ready with his own smart remark, but Spock’s blithe words caught up with him. “What did you just say?”

Spock ignored him.

“How did you know about my ADD?” It was strictly on his Bones’-eyes-only medical profile. He didn’t want it advertised, especially now that he was Captain.

After a pause, Spock looked up with troubled eyes. "Pardon?"

It was rare that he asked anyone to repeat themselves.

“I know Bones didn’t tell you,” Jim went on, a cold certainty in his voice. “You hacked into my files.”

“I would never,” Spock insisted. “I – “

“What, are you trying to get me kicked off my post? Tell Starfleet I’m too impulsive to be Captain?” He stood, his chair rolling back into the wall. “Are you that tired of working under me?”

“I would not attempt to unduly accuse you of – “

“Being compromised?” Jim finished, laughing. “Well, I did it to you. And we both know you’re not exactly fond of me having the upper hand.”

Spock raised an infuriating eyebrow. “You were right to have me removed from my post. Though as you did so on the advice of my counterpart, the ‘upper hand’ would remain with myself.”

Jim wanted to punch him in his dumb, blank face. “How did you know?”

Spock hesitated. “Your disorder was easily named through simple deduction.”

Somehow, that didn’t feel like the truth. Jim dragged his chair back and buried himself in the first random document he could find.

“If you are unsatisfied with my performance as your First Officer, a more direct route of action would be to record those complaints through a formal letter of reprimand.”

Jim looked over in spite of himself. “ _I’m_ satisfied. _I’m_ not the one who’s been acting like a sociopath.”

“You believe me unhappy with my post?”

Jim shrugged. “You tell me.”

Spock looked like he might have ignored him, but then he sighed and sat back, relaxing into his chair like he was too exhausted to sit straight. Jim could see the yellow circles under his eyes again. “I do not wish to serve under any other Captain.”

Jim wanted to argue that Spock had _just_ called him an idiot – and maybe something even worse – back on Starbase. Nyota’s voice clicked over the intercom before he could.

“Admiral Pike is now available. Patching through in three, two…”

They looked away from each other. Jim pushed his hand through his hair and Spock sat back up, at full attention.

“Good to see you, boys,” Pike said good naturedly. On screen, he sat behind a large desk piled with papers and folders. The angle was low, but Jim could just see the corner of the Golden Gate in the office window. “Haven’t killed each other, yet, I see.”

Jim hadn’t seen him in months, but he looked as good as ever. Better, actually – kind of _killing_ it with the whole silver-fox thing. Jim didn’t have to force his smile.

“Not yet, sir.” He looked over. Spock said nothing. “…We actually called you for some advice. How up to date are you?”

Pike glanced at his desk screen. “I was just reading up on you. Shuttling former Ferengi captives to their home planet.”

“Right. I’ve spoken to some of them.” Jim filled Pike in on everything they knew; that the Alliance was condoning slave trade, that a small group of Ferengi didn’t want to return to Ferenginar, and the very scarce foundations they’d found in the rules and regs that could apply.

“Section 455 is in the Fed Regs – and Ferenginar isn’t Federation, I know that – but it is warp-capable. Interplanetary slave trade would put them in further violation of several of our General Orders. Not that those apply, either.” Jim sighed heavily, trying to pull his mind into order. “Slaving has led to wars in the past, so I – “

“Let me stop you right there, Jim,” Pike said. He’d been listening intently for the whole time Jim talked, his fingers steepled under his chin. “Spock, what do you make of all this?”

“We will arrive in sixty point four three hours. If the Ferengi passengers are not delivered immediately, the situation may become hostile.”

Pike thought for a few long moments. “Did they…” he sat forward, swiping a thumb across his lower lip. Jim licked his own lips subconsciously. “Did they _say_ that they refused to go back?”

“No. They didn’t refuse outright.”

Pike gave a short nod. “I can’t officially give you advice about this.”

Jim waited with bated breath.

“…All I can tell you is that I’ve _heard_ about a case similar to this. Federation Trial Log…I don’t remember the exact number. _Symfilíosi v. Son’a,_ I believe.”

“That’s…” Jim scrambled for a PADD. “That’s amazing. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. I’ll see what can be done from my end.”

Jim and Spock stood at the same time. “Thanks again, Admiral.”

Pike smiled. “Anytime. Come see me if you find yourself planetside.”

Jim grinned. “Sure thing.”

“Until then, Admiral,” Spock added.

“Good luck out there. Pike out.”

The call cut out. Jim fell back into his chair and started typing. “What did he say? Son’a versus… Spock?”

Spock stopped halfway to the door, and didn’t turn around. “I will return after completing the days reports and updating the First Officer’s log.”

“Right now? We just got our first lead!”

“As I said. I will return. There are duties that cannot go neglected.”

Jim stared at his back. This wouldn’t be as fun without Spock there with him, reading over his shoulder. “Okay, weirdo. I’ll read it without you.”

_____________

“The precedent is inexact. It was not a question of jurisdiction, as Son’a is a neutral territory. They did not seek bodily autonomy, but religious.”

“It undermined Section 455, _and_ we’re not saving them; they’re already on board.”

Spock nodded. “That is correct.”

They didn’t usually walk to bridge together. Spock didn’t eat breakfast, but he’d shown up at the dining area to catch Jim so they could go start discussing the upcoming call with Fleet Admiral Bovet.

The previous afternoon had been spent drafting their case. Everything they knew was in it, but it was entirely possible that the Admiral would only glance at it and ask Jim all of his questions over the call. Jim had never worked with Bovet, but he was slightly inclined to trust him. If he was getting back to them so quickly, he must be a friend of Pike’s. At least, Jim hoped that was the reason.

“Got a signal, Lieutenant?” Jim stood in front of his chair, leaning onto the rail overlooking the helm. Several Lieutenants looked around, startled, but Nyota’s voice rang clear through the room.

“On standby with the Fleet Admiral’s office, Captain.” She put her fingers around the mouthpiece of her headset, talking quietly with Bones, who’d come up to watch. Jim turned forward, chewing a thumbnail nervously. God, he had to tread carefully. He really tended to put his foot in his mouth when Admirals were dicks to him.

“Patching through,” Uhura said suddenly. “In five, four, three…”

Everyone swiveled to their stations. Unnecessarily, Jim adjusted his shirt and pulled at his collar. Spock stood silent by his side, offering a small nod when their eyes met. Jim smiled back, trying to draw some reassurance from the fact that even if Spock hated him, they could still work together.

The screen flipped from Warp space to the Andorian Admiral. His skin looked ghostly on the screen, the image helped along by dark eyes and a serious expression.

“Captain Kirk.”

“Fleet Admiral.” Jim pulled his hands behind his back, mirroring Spock. “You’ve read the draft, I trust?”

He winced internally. That had to be the quickest he’d ever spoken out of turn to someone he just met. Behind him, Bones sighed.

Bovet’s expression didn’t waver. “I’ve made it a priority. The issue you’ve related here is of…adjacent importance to Starfleet interests.”

Bovet having read the brief was a nice surprise. The fact that it was a _priority_ was almost shocking. “I wasn’t aware.”

“Yes, well, your claims for asylum may be useful. It has long been suspected that the Ferengi Alliance is hiding something in their grant reports. Using Federation money in… ‘off-shore- banking, if you will.”

Jim raised his eyebrows. “You’ve spent time on Earth.”

Bovet afforded a very dry chuckle. “Alliance representatives have avoided entering Federation space, and the nature of our…concerns…affords a medium probability that Federation officials would be unsafe in Alliance space. A stand-off. This is a very unique opportunity to entice them over to our side.”

There it was. The ulterior motive he’d feared ever since Bovet had gotten back to them within a day. “In what way, sir?”

“They will want their females back, and we see no reason not to delay that transfer until they can come to collect. Negotiations will take place. An exchange of information for their population.”

“And the precedent, sir? Granting asylum to those who don’t want to return?”

Bovet frowned. “I would like to see it done, Kirk, but there are a lot of moving parts here. Nothing is certain.”

“I understand,” Jim lied.

“The Alliance will be contacted from our end. We’ll inform them of the change in plans. Set course for Setlik III. Colony planet in the Maxia quadrant – it’s on the way.”

The hairs on the back of Jim’s neck stood up, alongside a rush of…fear? That didn’t make sense. He wasn’t scared. Why should he be? He’d never even heard of Setlik III. He blinked it away, looking at the map Sulu projected. The planet was directly on the way to Ferenginar, just at the edge of Fed Space.

“Coordinates obtained, sir,” Jim said. Sulu projected a number. “Landfall in…forty one hours.

“Report to me once you’ve arrived.” Bovet nodded, and the camera cut out. The bridge was totally silent.

Jim sank into his chair. Sitting on one of his feet, leaning onto the arm. His thinking pose.

He’d been hoping to buy time, at the very least. Now, it seemed they’d _lost_ it. Almost twenty hours of it. Worse, The Federation could seem to care less about granting asylum. They wanted to use these women as currency.

“The Ferengi reps will never give up information,” he said. Bones had wandered around to watch Jim. His and Spock’s combined gazes rested heavily on his shoulders. "Not willingly."

Spock went first. “It is unlikely.”

“They’ll see right through us. Bluffing is a big part of their culture,” Bones added, shifting uncomfortably. “Oh, don’t look so surprised. I can do research, too.”

“Bluffing…” Proof. They needed proof. If a Type-A offense could be proven, with reasonability to assume it would happen again, then getting Fon and the others free would be a sure thing. “Who does the Alliance trade with? Officially.”

Sulu stood behind the railing, leaning in on the lower bar. “Everyone. They trade with everyone.”

“That is wildly inaccurate – “

“Stand down, Spock,” Jim intervened. “Figure of speech.”

Sulu nodded. “They trade with every big power. Including us.”

“Excepting the Klingon Empire,” Spock turned to his terminal. “You aim to find the falsely named records to which Admiral Bovet alluded.”

“Well, it would be easier if we had any idea where to look.” Jim looked over his shoulder. “Could be Iyar. They’re close to Tagus III. That's where that other ship was headed.”

"Allegedly."

“It could be anybody, Jim,” Bones said. “You really think you’ll be able to find something like that on your own? The higher-ups obviously couldn’t.”

“I am inclined to agree,” Spock pulled up a quadrant map. “The area of inquiry is vast.”

Jim was barely listening. “Well, there’s someone who might know. Spock, take the comm.”

“I will accompany you.”

The three of them crowded into the lift. “Sulu?” Jim asked, exasperated.

“Got it, Captain,” Sulu nodded, hopping over the rail. The doors slid shut.

“Captain,” Spock started right away. Jim stepped away from him, needing to escape the way Spock’s scent made his head fuzzy. “I must advise against this course of action.”

“Why?” Bones asked suspiciously. “What are you about to do?”

“I’m gonna ask the Ferengi if they know anything. That’s all.”

“Do not,” Spock said more insistently. Jim crossed his arms. “You have not been authorized to further this investigation, nor do our passengers have a salient grasp of their situation. Do you intend to inform them of how unlikely it is they will be set free?”

“I’m just asking a question.”

“The situation has changed significantly from the last time you spoke to them. Any information you attain will have been gained by way of manipulation.”

“He’s not wrong,” Bones muttered reluctantly.

Jim hit the turbo stop. “Care to translate?”

“He’s talkin’ about informed consent, Jim. Not that what you’d be doing is _wrong_ , per-se…”

“Morally wrong, if not regulatorily, Doctor.” Spock cast Bones an annoyed twitch of his eyebrow. “You cannot deny it, despite your history of ignoring ethical ramifications.”

Jim waited for the explosion, but Bones only nodded in a resigned sort of way.

“ _What_ is happening?” Jim couldn’t _believe_ Bones was on Spock’s side. Was it fucking _opposite day?_ Their whole dynamic sort of relied on the fact that Spock and Bones disagreed on everything. That way it was never 2-1 against Jim. “I’m helping them. How is that unethical?”

Spock glanced at Bones, his face hardening. “Any Federation representative should take issue with a Starfleet Captain using his position to further his own ambition – “

“ _Ambition?_ ” Jim’s voice echoed off the interior of the lift. Bones’ hand dug into his sternum, and only then did he realize he’d taken an enraged step toward Spock.

“Jim, come on.”

“Please understand.” Spock’s eyes were blank. “I do not mean offense. Should a disciplinary hearing come to pass, I would be called to testify against you. You should be aware of how I would relate these events.”

Jim turned away, looking pleadingly to Bones. “Is he threatening me?”

“As usual, Jim, I have no fuckin’ clue. Though I do remember why I never come on bridge.”

Spock un-stopped the lift. “Doctor McCoy and I will inform the passengers of the planned stop on Setlik III.”

“Will we?” Bones asked, eyebrows up. Jim spun.

“What, now I can’t even talk to them?”

Spock met his gaze evenly. “To use a Human expression, Captain, I do not believe you can help yourself.”

The doors opened on the level of crew quarters. Bones frowned thoughtfully at Spock, who gazed back blankly. Jim, sick of them both, stepped out.

_______________________

He checked what he could of Alliance trade with Iyar, but there was nothing. It was one of the very few space systems the Ferengi had never had official contact with. Searching for who they _did_ trade with made for an extremely long list. Trade with the Cardassian Union alone would take him months to peruse, much less analyze for number discrepancies.

He took to typing up some of his scattered thoughts, not stopping for a while, even when there was a knock on his door.

“Enter.”

He wrote out three more lines before realizing that the person who’d come in hadn’t said anything.

“You know it freaks me out when you do that.”

“Apologies,” Spock said. “The Ferengi passengers have been informed of our change in heading.”

“How’d they take it?” Jim kept typing, needing to get the rest of his thoughts out before Spock inevitably distracted him from it all. “I assume extremely well, as you were all spared my hopeless lack of decorum.”

“Not entirely hopeless, Captain.”

Jim typed. It only just barely narrowed down the list if he threw out all non-Federation sympathetic systems. Still _so many_.

“Those that took the news visibly well were among the group that have asked for asylum. The remainder showed signs of apprehension and fear. Doctor McCoy attempted to quell those misgivings by informing them that this departure will only delay their return home by approximately two days, not depending on the negotiations.”

Fuck. The last thing Jim wanted was for anyone to be scared. “And how did they react?”

“Improved.”

“Good. Anything else?”

“Yes. There is information that must be imparted to you.”

Spock’s voice was fraught with tension. Jim looked up, immediately prepared for the worst.

“What? What happened?”

Spock looked away, and then back. He opened his mouth, and shut it. It was enough for Jim to know that whatever this was wasn’t related to the ship or line of duty. It was personal, and Spock was uncomfortable. He relaxed, but only slightly.

“Are you aware of a Vulcan Embassy currently stationed on Setlik III?”

Jim frowned. What were the chances? “No. It’s not your dad, is it?”

Spock’s lips parted in what almost seemed like surprise. Then he blinked. “My father remains on New Vulcan.”

“Okay…?”

“Ambassador Sevek is stationed on Setlik III,” he said in a rush.

“Ah.” Jim felt weird about that for so many reasons. Mostly, though, it was exciting. “How did you know? Do you guys stay in touch?”

“We do not,” Spock answered quickly. Stiffly. “I find it prudent to be aware of his general location whenever the opportunity presents itself.”

“…Right. Why?”

“No matter. Upon much thought, it has become apparent that he could prove a useful source in locating the reports you are determined to seek.”

Jim looked down at the terminal. The thousands of documents he didn’t have a hope of getting through. If the Federation was looking for it already…

“You think he would remember this if it happened in his lifetime.”

“Such an investigation, should it come to fruition, would undoubtedly be of interest to any Starfleet officer. I see no reason he would not have been aware.”

“Okay,” Jim sighed, then closed out of his research. “Let’s call him. Computer – “

“Jim,” Spock said hurriedly. “I must warn you.”

“Of what?”

It looked like Spock was trying very hard not to have an expression. “The chances that he will attempt to meet with you once on-planet are above ninety eight percent. The chances that he will attempt to meld with you are above fifty five percent. I must warn you against consenting to such an act.”

Jim swiveled away from his desk, shocked. “Why would he meld with me again?” It wasn’t uninteresting, that was for sure.

“I do not know.” Spock’s tone was a new one, for him. Like a five year old saying they hadn’t been in the cookie jar when the crumbs were all over their shirt. “I believe his intentions to be duplicitous. You should not trust him with your mind.”

“He’s _you_ ,” Jim said, flabbergasted.

Spock raised an eyebrow. “Precisely.”

“You don’t trust _yourself?_ ” Jim emphasized, needing him to say it again. “You understand why that baffles me, don’t you? And you _just_ told me to go to him for advice.”

“In that, I believe he will be perfectly honest.”

“But I can’t meld with him.”

“It is not for me to tell you what you may or may not do. My position is that of advisor.”

“Yeah, and you’re advising me not to trust you.” Jim sighed. Spock shifted his weight, but said nothing. “Did it ever occur to you that I would _want_ to see him?”

The smooth façade twitched in irritation. “It was factored into my calculations.”

“Oh, thank God.” Jim spun the stylus in his fingers. “What do you care, anyway? I’ll be friends with Old Spock so you don’t have to talk to either one of us.”

It was too loaded. Jim had wanted to put all his issues aside, but the goddamn Vulcan cross-talk always made him want to hit something.

“You believe he wants to be your friend,” Spock accused, a hint of incredulity coloring his tone.

“I believe he wants to see me ninety eight percent more than you do.” Jim turned back to his desk, giving as obvious a dismissal as he could. “That’ll be all, Commander.”

There was a prolonged, tense silence. Then the door opened and shut and Jim blew out a breath, getting ready to call. He needed a minute to recover from his Spock before he talked to the other one.

__________________

“All bridge duty personnel to ready room,” Jim paged through the intercom. “Gamma shift, relieve immediately."

His conversation with Sevek had been brief, but happy. And _weird_. But he’d think about that later. They had a case to crack. Everyone who’d been on bridge got there first. Spock, Uhura, Sulu, and Chekov. Jim waited to explain until Bones and Scott showed up. Everyone looked eager and curious. Spock stared at the wall.

“Alright,” he started, planting his hands on the table. He stood at the head, between Spock and Bones. “I have reason to believe the… ‘off-shore’ accounts are coming from Lissepia.”

He pulled it up on the viewscreen. “They trade with the Cardassians. They also trade with the Ferengi Alliance - textiles for iridium ore, mainly. But they accepted Federation grants to build shuttlecraft so they could trade at Xindi Starbase Nine, and that means we have access to all monetary reports. There’s a lot to go through, but we’ve got a day and a half to try.”

“I’m sorry,” Bones drawled, arms crossed. “Just how do you figure _this_ is where the accounts are?”

Jim glanced at Spock, his gaze unmet.

It was kind of incredible how off-putting this was getting. He never noticed how much Spock looked at him until he’d stopped. “Doesn’t matter how I know. Just trust that I wouldn’t waste your time with guesses, alright?”

Nyota leaned forward seriously. “Just tell us where to start.”

Sulu and Scott nodded their assent. Chekov looked like he’d drop dead from excitement at any second.

“I've already isolated their trade with the Alliance into its own database. Cross reference all three of each report – there should be one filed with the Alliance, with Lissepia, and with the Federation. Run the numbers, set aside anything that doesn’t match up. I’ve divided it between the seven of us, so it’s still pretty big, but we’ll just have to plow through.”

“Aye, sir,” Scott nodded, already propping up his PADD.

Jim slid into his chair, and the room was quiet while they all settled into the work. He would have played music or something, but they’d gone down that road once already. Not a single one of them could agree on what constituted good or even tolerable music.

After adding in the appropriate filters, his load was just under three thousand individual reports. It was time consuming work, picking out one and then finding the two corresponding entries. There wasn’t a single report that didn't match up, and it started to get pretty backbreaking after hour four. At hour five, they had food brought in.

“Who knew there were so many kinds of fabric?” Sulu moaned around a burger. “God, that’s good.”

“No one’s found anything?” Jim ate a green bean offhandedly.

“Not a thing,” Bones said. He crossed his legs under the table, knocking Jim’s shin.

“Ow!" Jim threw a bean his direction.

“Keptin,” Chekov sat forward at the end, elbowing Sulu out of the way. “I’ve come across several reports zat the translate function cannot translate.”

Nyota looked up. “It could be an old dialect.”

“Just set it to the side.” Jim checked off another three entries. “Get through the ones you can read.”

They went on. Jim resisted the urge to push his uneaten vegetables over to Spock, who _had_ to be hungry. By 1600 hours, he still had 1800 reports. They’d each come across a few of the untranslatable documents. Jim had them all held aside, hoping that they’d find the corresponding entries through process of elimination. They had thirty hours left.

“Spock?” He asked a while later. “How long do you think this will take us?”

Spock looked up for the first time in hours. “Exact number of reports left to analyze?”

“I have 1700,” he said.

Bones clicked something. “2000.”

“1200,” said Nyota. The rest had about the same.

“What about you?"

“One hundred,” Spock said. Jim figured it would be as much, with Spock’s ability to perfectly run numbers in his head. “If I take on a fraction of each of your remaining entries, the full set will be completely analyzed before 0300 hours.”

“What time is that on Setlik III?”

“Following the planetary orbit around it’s sun, planet-time would be 0700 at our 0300.”

Jim did the math, leaning back and regarding the ceiling. Negotiations were set to start as soon as the Ferengi delegation arrived, which would be the planet’s 1400 hours. The _Enterprise_ wouldn’t arrive until two hours after that. If Jim was going to get the evidence to Bovet by start of day, they’d have to get this done as quickly as possible.

“Everyone, keep going. Spock, try and work on translating those Lissepian entries,” he decided. Spock nodded tersely and drew the viewscreen console toward him, fingers twisting the knobs and dials expertly to throw one of the untranslated files to the screen and open up the translating code matrix next to it. “And if anyone needs to sleep, I won’t stop you.”

“Eh,” Scotty shrugged, sitting back and propping his feet up, PADD in lap. “We’ll all be jet lagged to hell, anyway.”

“I’ll call for coffee,” Nyota offered.

Jim’s stomach filled with warmth. He wasn’t alone in this. They could do it.

She made the call, and for the next half hour Jim sucked down as much coffee as he could. He felt exhausted, not because he’d had a particularly hard day, but because there was so much to do.

He reached for the carafe to pour more, but Spock was already holding it, tipping a refill into Jim’s mug. He met Jim’s eyes briefly before setting the it down and looking back to the viewscreen. It was entirely unsettling, and yet...

Jim, in that moment, had never felt more cared for in his entire life. Something foreign and strange – like the fear from earlier, almost – pressed into his mind.

“There is nothing in error with the translating matrix,” Spock said. Everyone looked up, naturally inclined to listen to his firm voice. Jim searched the strange feeling out, but it was gone.

“Dialects can disrupt – “

“I have accounted for it,” Spock assured Nyota. “Simply, no known language corresponds to these reports. Otherwise, the matrix would be able to perform at least an indirect translation.”

Jim looked away from him, focusing on Nyota instead. “The matching reports to the Federation will be in Standard. That’ll give us an idea of what it says, right?” She nodded, biting her lip. “We’ll just keep plucking along with what we have.”

“Your logic is sound.” Jim looked back to Spock. “Though the untranslated reports are numerous. It will not be possible to identify the information within in order to correspond. Any and all deductions will be guesswork.”

“If we can narrow it down enough,” Nyota said hesitantly, “It’s possible I could…use the syntax to figure it out. I just have to familiarize myself with their sentence structure.”

“Okay,” Jim nodded. “Send Spock half of your workload. You can work on that together when you’ve finished.”

Another series of coffee pots were brought in around midnight. They all kept having to get up and pee, but Spock remained in his seat, his eyes never wavering from his PADD. Jim was finally down to triple digits, working as fast as possible and sending away everything that refused to be translated. Those reports were starting to add up, collecting in a growing shared bank. Almost seven hundred reports they couldn't access.

Nyota and Spock finished and started working together with the console.

“Can you find the Lyssipian word for _ore deposit?_ ”

“Yes, Lieutenant.”

Jim hurried through his load, tapping his foot out of impatience and over-caffeination. He finished that at 0100. Scott, Bones and Sulu still had a few hundred of their own to go through. Chekov was nearly finished.

“Sending you my unmatched ,” Jim said.

“Just hand me your PADD.” She reached out. “So I can look at them side by side.”

Spock stood behind her, their faces set in matching lines of determination. “Can you translate?”

“Not in a way that matters,” she sighed. “Scattered words, but I can’t figure out the context. Like someone was jotting down notes, almost. Ore, sell, trade. I don’t know who traded what, or with who.”

“Done!” Chekov said, loudly enough in the quiet room that everyone but Spock jumped. “Sorry.”

Nyota reached past Sulu to drag Chekov’s PADD over. She looked between it and the viewscreen, where a Lyssipian report still displayed. Total gibberish, to Jim, the letters as incomprehensible as any reptilian language.

“Ore again,” she muttered. “All the unmatched reports are about miszinite ore. But I can’t find the word for that on the Lissepian side.”

Chekov shot out of his chair, staring at the viewscreen.

“What is it, laddie?” Scotty asked, exasperated.

He pointed. “Zat is the Lissepian?”

“Yes,” Nyota said slowly.

“Pav,” Sulu urged after a beat of silence. Chekov walked closer to the screen, pointing a finger and moving it slowly, like he was counting something.

“Lieutenant, vould you highlight the vords that mean ‘oor’?”

“Um.”

“Ore,” Sulu translated. “He means ore.”

Several of the foreign words turned blue. Everyone had paused, watching Chekov think.

“Keep working,” Jim commanded. “Finish matching what you can.”

Bones, Scott, and Sulu all looked back down.

“Now green,” Chekov said. “Anything you believe to be a werb.”

“Verb,” Sulu corrected under his breath. More words changed color. Jim leaned forward. Chekov seemed to be hurtling to some sort of conclusion, but he had no idea what. Neither did Spock, judging by the persistent crease between his eyebrows.

“Now,” Chekov made a concerted effort to pronounce this one. “Ad _verbs_ , red.”

“I can’t separate those from the adjectives, Pavel.”

“Both, zen. Now, all nouns blue as vell.”

Another set of words changed color. Chekov flinched in an excited way, and Jim reminded himself not to give him any coffee in the future.

“ _Da idi ty!”_

“What?” Nyota looked at Jim, started.

“Look at zis sentence.” Chekov put his hands on the viewscreen, forming a parenthesis around a set of words. “Werb, werb, werb, adjective. And zis one, and zis. Nothing in between. Do you know any languages vith sentence structure like zis?”

“Well, no, but that doesn’t mean…” 

“It does! It does!” Chekov all but threw himself across the table, jerking Sulu’s PADD away.

“Hey!”

“It is not a language,” Chekov said, his accent growing thicker with his excitement. Spock’s patience was visibly waning. “It is encryption!”

“What?” Jim asked. “How do you know?”

“It is…I cannot…” Chekov tapped away. Spock scanned the viewscreen intently. “Ad _verbs_ and adjectives…”

“I’m working on it,” Nyota nodded. Jim took away one of the PADDs in front of her and pushed it to Sulu.

“Finish what you were doing,” he told him. Then he walked around the table to watch Chekov’s attempt at decrypting. “How can you be sure it’s a code?”

“Ze structure is more like hierarchal encryption zen a language. Nouns are one, werbs are two. Ze rest I cannot know.”

Spock returned to his seat, fiddling with the console. Jim looked at the viewscreen to see what he was doing. Writing a decryption code out of thin air, apparently. Chekov had taken the Lissepian document onto his PADD, turning the blue words into numbers.

Hierarchal…he’d learned about it at the Academy. “What are you using for asymmetric? Proper nouns?” 

“No proper nouns in this language,” Nyota informed them.

Spock’s fingers paused. “I suggest articles for the asymmetric key.”

“Thank you, Commander!”

“Done,” Bones said, sitting back. There was a flutter of activity as Jim made sure Nyota got the unmatched files. She moved from PADD to PADD, highlighting this and that. Scotty finished next, around 0150 hours. Spock continued writing code on the main screen, his eyes moving side to side so quickly Jim got dizzy just looking at him.

He felt utterly useless, and took to pacing at the back of the room, out of everyone’s way. Bones was the opposite, sipping his coffee and watching Nyota with a half-smile on his face that Jim would have to remember to make fun of him for.

“Got it, Chekov. Adjectives in yellow."

Chekov nodded at her, and a moment later slammed his hand down on the table, exclaiming something else in Russian. “Done!”

“Decrypting now,” Spock said immediately. The document of what were now numbers appeared on screen, code rushing alongside it and slowly making changes until words appeared. In Standard. The room came to a slow halt as everyone read.

Ore. Lots of it. Huge shipments coming in and out of Lissepia. More than they had any possible use for. Jim sat, looking at the numbers.

“What’s the stardate for this document?”

“Three years ago,” Chekov read. “Many are more recent zan zat.”

For that fiscal week alone, more than five thousand units of Ore had been sold. If they had what Jim thought they had, that was five thousand women. Five _thousand_ Ferengi sold in _one week_. Right under the Federation’s nose.

“Cross check that with the one filed with the Federation,” he said to the room. Bones turned a PADD in Jim’s direction.

“Already done. The numbers don’t even come close.”

“They didn’t bother to record that it was miszinite,” Nyota said. “Just ‘ore’.”

“Sloppy. Well, let’s see if they actually got their money.” Jim typed the stardate into the banking database. “Half. They got half of it.”

“That’s a huge profit.” Sulu looked disgusted. “The Ferengi must be making tons off of this, to give them that much.”

This was it. This was their proof. Jim let himself take a deep breath, trying not to feel too victorious. It was worse than he could have imagined. Fon’s group was just fifteen lives. Out of thousands.

“Captain,” Spock said. Jim looked up. “Shall I begin a draft report to the Admiral?”

Jim checked the time. “Keep decrypting. As much as you can in the next hour. I’ll draft the report. And... Chekov?”

“Yes, Keptin.”

Jim hesitated, then decided that consulting anyone else would be pointless. They would all be in agreement. “I’m promoting you to acting Lieutenant. Effective immediately.”

His mouth fell open, his face draining of color. For a second, Jim was sure he would just keel over. Sulu punched him in the arm.

“T-Thank you, Keptin.”

Bones and Scotty both smiled at Jim fondly, but it was Spock’s warm, rich brown eyes that he felt the most. He cleared his throat. “Alright. Enough of that. Let’s get this done.”

_________________________

Jim was really trying to find reasons _not_ to go to Bones. Really, he couldn’t be sure there was something wrong. He was going on thirty hours without sleep. The little brain flutters he’d felt earlier hadn’t happened again, and he started to doubt they had ever happened at all. Just to keep himself awake, he paced in the hall instead of sitting next to Spock on the bench.

“Captain, might I suggest – ?”

“No,” Jim said. “Sorry. No, I can’t sit.”

He would have thought it was weird Spock was sitting at all, if he wasn’t so anxious.

“Can you hear what’s going on in there?”

“I cannot.”

Jim paced past him, having to stop to let two people walk past. They smelled like outside, which he still had yet to see. They’d beamed directly into the main Starfleet outpost. The base of operations on this planet rested in the Northern Hemisphere, in a location not at all unlike San Fran. He wanted to see an ocean again so badly.

“Do you think – “

“You know I believe our report to be both thorough and informative.”

Well, knowing Starfleet, that would only get them about half of the way. He couldn't know what was going on in there until they came out.

The Ferengi women were still on the _Enterprise_ , awaiting their fate, and that made him even more anxious. There was just _no way_ Jim was sending Fon away. Not back to that. And if Starfleet tried to make him…

“Come,” Spock said. Jim stopped. “You require sustenance.”

“I’m not leaving. They could come out any second!”

Spock glanced at the door. “It is unlikely.”

He started walking, leaving Jim to try and keep up.

“Was my pacing annoying you?”

“Were I capable of such an emotion, I am sure it would.”

They pushed into the floor’s dining room, and Jim stopped cold. The floor-to-ceiling glass walls framed a picturesque image of rolling fog over a dark ocean. The sky was blue, just like home. He walked forward, until he could see the beaches far below them. The fog almost obscured it completely, but he could make out rocky shore and black sand. To the right, up a rock incline, was the rest of the outpost campus. They were in the largest building, by far. The others were more naturalistic-looking. Places for families and ambassadors.

Reluctantly, he turned away. The dining room wasn’t very big, and someone sitting in the corner was eating something that smelled very good. His stomach pushed him toward the replicators, but Spock seemed to have something else in mind.

“You really want to make me like Vulcan food, don’t you?” Jim sat across from him at the table he’d chosen, where he’d set out a tray for Jim and nothing for himself. “Aren’t you hungry?”

“I am not.” Spock gazed through the window. He looked almost as tired as Jim felt.

Thankfully, this was more substantial than soup. Though he doubted it would be bursting with flavor. It looked almost like pasta, but the consistency as he picked at it with his fork was more like steamed carrot. It tasted faintly bitter, like turnip. Or beets. Ugh.

“Do you think we did everything we could?” He couldn’t help but ask, letting his fork drop with a _clang_.

“Captain.” Spock paused. “Jim. I believe you have done more than anyone could have anticipated.”

“Don’t give _me_ credit. If you hadn’t told me to ask Sevek – “

“Please.” He looked down at the table with a pained expression. “I have opposed you at every step. It is in spite of me you have achieved anything.”

“Well all _I_ did was take credit from whoever figured it out in Sevek's timeline." Jim thought about it, wanting to give Spock a real answer. “And you were just doing your job. I can’t really blame you. I work on hunches most of the time. That must be…frustrating.”

“Not at all.” Spock looked upset. “If ever I were to express frustration, it would be when you actively work against reason. There are many who would rather indulge you in this impulse than contradict.”

“Well, I know you’re not talking about Bones,” Jim chuckled. “So who?”

Spock regarded him for a moment. “When you believed you were seeing apparitions, logic would dictate you consult your physician. Yet you sought the opinion of Lieutenant Commander Scott, knowing his culture to believe strongly in superstition.”

So that’s what this was about. The ghosts again. “I was going to tell Bones. Once we made it to Starbase.”

“If you believed yourself to be compromised – “

“I didn’t. I was half-convinced it was just... dreams. Besides, if me and the others were having mental evaluations, it would get out. That kind of stuff can make people lose it. You know what used to happen on old Earth ocean vessels, right?”

“Mass hysteria.”

Jim nodded. “And Scotty wasn’t _indulging_ me. He believed me. You shouldn’t hold that against him.”

“I do not.”

Jim raised an eyebrow. “So you didn’t threaten to have him transferred?”

Spock’s eyes narrowed. “His conduct nearly resulted in the death of three crewmembers and a Starfleet Captain.”

“How could he have possibly known?”

Spock looked away, jaw tight. “It is useless to discuss the past.”

 _You brought it up_ , Jim thought, rolling his eyes.

“You do not like it.” Spock was looking at his food.

“No,” Jim decided. “Here, you eat it. I’ll take my chances with a Vulcan dessert. Any suggestions?”

Spock’s lips twitched.

________________________

The doors opened just as Jim and Spock were walking back down the hall. They stopped at a little distance, listening to the yelling.

“You Humans cannot imagine the profit! Your petty concerns for _moral_ wellbeing only show us how unworthy you are!”

A group of three Ferengi men stormed out, flanked by Starfleet security. They wore complex little suits made of flashy chrome and dark metals. A group of Admirals followed with resigned expressions Jim immediately understood.

“It is him!” One of the Ferengi said, noticing Jim. “The ugly one!”

Jim’s mouth fell open. “Are you talking to _me?”_

The Ferengi all bared their teeth, and the one with the biggest shoulder pads stomped over.

“ _You_ are the Kirk,” he growled. “You think you can tell us how to do business?! Your Human socialism is weak! You will not last!”

“Is that a threat, DaiMon Kor?” Bovet boomed. He was a lot taller and bulkier than he’d seemed over the video call. Kor seemed to be aware of that – he was trying to position himself so he could have Bovet in his line of sight and yell at Jim at the same time. The security officers weren't reacting much, so Jim figured he didn't have any weapons.

“Of course not,” Kor snarled. “What is the truth cannot be a threat!”

“Then it is the truth,” Spock said in a low, dangerous voice, “That if you do not step away from the Captain, I will subdue you.”

Jim tried to ignore how sexy that was, unsuccessfully. Kor looked up like he was just realizing Spock was there. “ _Blech._ Vulcans. A particularly hideous species.”

Jim bristled.

“You’ve been ordered to return to your ship, DaiMon,” a Human Admiral said. “I suggest you do so at once, while we still allow it.”

“We want our women returned! The Kirk will keep them no longer!”

“My vessel isn't duty bound to you,” Jim said, feeling the need to speak up for himself. Not that Spock wasn’t doing a good job of it.

Kor pointed a sharp fingernail at Jim’s chest. “If you think we will cower to your so-called authority – “

Spock took a step forward, and Kor honest-to-God scampered away, waving for his men to follow. His rambling followed them down the hall, and Jim looked to Bovet, cautiously hopeful.

“They don’t seem too happy.”

“Walk with me, gentlemen,” Bovet waved them the opposite direction the Ferengi had gone. “I must say, on the record, that your report was exceptional on all fronts. What you did was momentous.”

“Thank you, sir,” Jim said, having to work without showing it to keep up with his and Spock’s inhuman strides. “How did the negotiations go?”

“Even when confronted with the evidence, they didn’t... _directly_ admit to anything. But this is just the beginning. For now, they’ll be escorted back to Alliance Space, with whatever amount of their women that wish to attend. There will be a Council meeting in the coming weeks, where official measures will be taken.”

“How official?” Jim asked, skirting around a group of science officers. Bovet chuckled.

“Stand down, Captain. You’ve done your part.”

“Because I care about the outcome, sir.”

“Well, once every one of those falsified reports is examined by the Federation Council, we’re looking at official trade recalls and the immediate confiscation of any Ferengi ship caught in Federation Space.”

That was huge. The Ferengi wouldn’t dare lose Federation grant money. The cost of having to skirt their freighters around Federation Space alone would be a hit. At the very least, they'd have to find another way to hide the money.

Bovet came to a stop outside of his office, fixing them with a calculating frown.

“Christopher had very good things to say about you two. Now, I see why.” He nodded to Jim. “I hope you enjoy your name in the headlines.”

“I’m just doing my job, sir,” Jim said firmly. Bovet nodded again.

“And you do it well. Now,” he sighed, antennae bobbing. “If you’ll excuse me, I must begin the tedious crawl of bureaucracy.”

“Of course. Thank you, Admiral.” 

He shook Jim's hand and exchanged a ta'al with Spock. When his door was shut, they looked at each other. Spock looked very tired, but he also looked...proud. Jim was a horrible friend and a worse Captain, because all he could think about was how hard it was going to be for them to go on like this. With Jim always wishing for something Spock couldn't give.

“Thanks for defending my honor, there."

“Hardly,” Spock said, and that was all he said. Jim’s good mood sank into the floor.

“Come on. Let’s go take care of our passengers.”

___________________

“Hope you’re proud of yourself.” Bones clapped him on the back on the way to the _Enterprise_ transporter room. “And I’m not even being sarcastic!”

“Well, you were right about the Ferengi. The men, anyway. Real dicks.”

Bones laughed. “Not all aliens have our Human charms, ain’t that right, Spock?”

“Indeed, the Ferengi did not possess a single agreeable trait.”

They turned around the corner, forced to a stop by the amount of bodies. 

“Ladies,” Jim smiled, sliding through by putting his back to the wall. The Ferengi looked over curiously, drawing to the other side of the hall as they whispered. The sound filled the hall with a wave-like susurrus. Jim got the feeling he was being talked about.

They finally made through the doors. Scotty leaned over the transport terminal to Keenser, who was surrounded by Ferengi that poked and prodded at him with obvious delight. The Yeoman were standing in the corner, also talking among themselves.

"Come on, he doesn' like that!"

“Scott,” Jim said. “What are you doing? You were supposed to start beaming them over ten minutes ago.”

“Aye, tha’s why I paged you,” Scotty waved to the room with an irritated hand. “None o’ them’ll talk to me. None o’ them’ll get on the pad for beamin’.”

Jim turned to the crowd. Some women looked at him. 

“Which one’s Fon?” He whispered in Bones’ ear. He got a shrug.

“O-kay.” Jim pressed a button on the terminal, speaking into the microphone. It amplified his voice around the room in a more natural way than yelling, so he wouldn’t hurt any sensitive ears. “We’re going to beam you aboard the Ferengi ship, everyone. So, anyone ready to go home, step toward the pad.”

All eyes had turned to him, but no one moved. There was still whispering from the hall.

“Scotty,” he muttered, holding a hand over the mic. “Do they know about transporting? Do they understand?”

Scotty blew out a breath. Spock stepped forward. “Positive, Captain. Ferengi ships utilize matter-energy conversion. It is extremely likely they have experienced it before, as they were discovered on a Ferengi freighter.”

“Captain,” a familiar voice called quietly. Jim searched for it among the crowd, finding a shift in bodies as one woman moved toward the front. “There is no longer any who wish to leave.”

Fon. Jim recognized her voice. “We won’t stop you. This isn’t a trick – you’re free to go.”

“It is not a trick,” Fon agreed. “That is not your way.”

Shocked, Jim leaned back toward the mic, directing his question to the room at large. “None of you want to leave?”

Some shook their heads, but most just looked at the floor or at each other.

“Not one,” Fon answered. “Before, many did not believe our freedom was possible.”

“You _all_ want to stay?” Jim couldn't believe it.

“They just said that,” Keenser murmured. Scotty shushed him.

“Yes, all,” Fon said

“Well, isn’t that something?” Jim turned the mic off and tapped his fingers on the screen to disengage the transport lock on the Ferengi ship. They weren’t gonna like that.

“Kirk to bridge.”

“Bridge here,” Uhura said from the terminal.

“Contact Admiral Bovet and inform him that no Ferengi wishes to leave my ship at this time. They can send a rep to make sure, if they want, or they can double check with my First Officer.”

“Yes, Captain.”

“And when you’re done with that,” Jim smiled at Fon. “Send word to the Ferengi ship. ‘The Kirk’ won’t be needing them to stick around, after all.”

“...Yes, Captain,” she said again, with the patience of a saint. The line clicked off.

“Bones,” Jim turned. “How long would it take to treat them for pyrocites? On a more permanent basis?”

“Well, I’d have to make more immunizations for the crew first – “

“What if I ordered all non-essentials to shore leave?”

Bones looked to Spock, considering. “What do you think? That’ll lighten the load by at least two-fifty.”

Spock glanced at Jim in an odd, searching way. “Two hundred and seventy four. Yes, the treatments can be prepared by 1200 hours tomorrow.”

“Captain?” Fon asked quietly, directing Jim's attention to the still quiet chamber.

“Yes?”

“Where will we go?”

Jim supposed this was the real question. Now that they were free, where _did_ they go?

“It’s not up to me,” he started, but found he didn’t know how to finish.

“The Federation,” Spock said in a clear voice, “will assist you in moving forward. Any colony planet will board you.”

There wasn’t a single smile among the crowd. Jim glanced at Spock, taking in his straight line of his back. The way he always stood at attention, even when Bones and Scott were both slouched with their arms crossed. Suddenly, he knew exactly what to say. 

These women were, in a way, without a planet, but that didn’t mean they weren’t Ferengi.

“The Federation will help you to a point,” he clarified to the room. “Beyond that, you’ll make your own way. Your own profit, whatever that means to you. You have the opportunity to do better than those who wronged you, and…” Jim held Spock’s gaze. “Show everyone what great good the Ferengi race is capable of.”

At that, the mood in the room turned jubilant. Several Ferengi laughed. Keenser was pulled into a group hug, and a few women burst into tears. Jim saw Janice wiping her eyes.

Spock only frowned, and another wave of utter despair washed over Jim. 

“Ach, come on, ladies. I need my assistant,” Scotty was saying, trying to extract Keenser.

“Alright, Jim.” Bones cleared his throat, trying to compensate for his glistening eyes by frowning harder. “I’ll go start on those treatments. Spock?”

“I’ll walk with you,” Jim followed the two of them toward the door. “I have to beam down soon.”

“I know we’ve had our arguments,” Bones said. “But I wouldn’t exactly call you non-essential.”

“I’ve got a meeting.” Jim noticed Spocks’ face tighten in stress. “There’s not much I can do up here, anyway. Plus, my room down there has a window I can open. Can’t beat that.”

“Well, bully for you. The rest of us shmucks'll be up here workin'.”

They reached Sick Bay, nurses already fluttering around with the orders Bones had commed down. Jim hoped the Ferengi could be treated quickly enough for them to enjoy the planet. Maybe they’d want to stay here. It was less-crowded, for a colony planet, but there were some decently big cities around the hot equator.

“Jim,” Spock said in a low voice. “I must speak with you.”

“Yeah?” Jim waited, watching some conflict play on the edges of Spock’s expression. Maybe he would tell Jim not to meet with Sevek, or maybe he’d tell Jim _why_ he shouldn’t meet with Sevek.

“It is…” Spock looked at Bones' back, exhaling. “You will not be returning to the ship?”

Jim shrugged. In all honestly, he wanted to be alone. He didn’t feel…right. “I’ll go walk on the beach or something, after…” he sighed, hating talking around things. “Why don’t you just come with me?”

“Pardon?”

“I didn’t even know you two had met, and you already have beef with each other? Don’t you _want_ to know him?”

Spock shook his head slowly. “Curiosity is a Human trait.”

God, he was so _predictable_ sometimes. “Okay, well, I tried,” Jim said tersely. “God forbid you admit to feeling _anything_ for _anyone_ , even yourself.”

The words left his mouth on their own, shocking the both of them. Spock stepped back like Jim had smacked him, his eyes wide.

“I gotta go,” Jim said quickly, humiliated at what he’d all but admitted. “Comm me if you – if Bones needs anything.”

Spock didn’t say anything, as usual. His face was blank again. Impenetrable.

“Yes, Captain.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ones for anti_ela who said they liked bureaucracy :)))
> 
> "Dai idi ty" : You're kidding me!


	5. Empathy

It was 1850 hours by the time Jim made it outside. He walked slowly across the small campus with one eye on the water, enjoying the breeze. This hemisphere was just entering its fall. Not too hot, not too cold. The air wasn’t salty, but the vague sensation was close enough to home that some of his rioting nerves calmed down. At least the grass was green. That was more than could be said for a lot of planets.

 _No grass so nice to look at as green_ , so said the famous Doney Braxonos. _No sky so nice to be held by as mine._ Maybe Jim would follow in his footsteps and become a blues singer post-Starfleet. Not that he could sing. At all. Though he was certainly feeling blue.

It was unusual for embassy offices to be separate from the main tower, but Jim could see why they’d done it here. The short, white building had been built atop a short cliff, looking directly over the water. In the sunset, the face of it was cast in shadow, orange path lights blinking on to invite him inside. The image was serene and calm – exactly where you’d want to host your important visitors.

Despite the hour, he heard voices echoing in the atrium from the inner buildings. On the overhanging balcony, two Vulcan men in black ambassador robes walked together, heads bent in conversation. Jim watched them go.

Instead of using the computer, he decided to stroll along the first hall he found, then another, following the door numbers until he arrived at the right one. Listening to faint conversations behind closed doors. Someone was playing an instrument.

He knocked, and the voice that called for him to enter sent a jolt of nervous energy through his body. This office was silent, save for the ocean sounds beyond an ajar window.

“James,” old Spock said, standing.

The video call hadn’t been enough to completely accustom Jim to this face again. The last time he’d seen it, he’d only known his own Spock for a short while. Now Sevek wasn’t just an old man. Jim could see _Spock_ in every line of his aged face. All the ways he was the same, but also the differences.

He smiled, for one, as Jim sat across from him at his desk. Definitely not a grin, but the lines around his mouth suggested a lot of happiness in his life. Jim had never seen his Spock smile. Not really.

The eyebrow was the same, as he raised it at Jim’s staring.

“Sorry.” Jim cleared his throat. “Somehow, this is even stranger than the last time.”

“I am inclined to agree.” Sevek tilted his head. “Now, do not keep an old man in suspense. Was I of any help to you?”

“Uh…Oh! Yeah!” Jim sat forward and told him everything, making sure to include Chekov’s genius with the last minute decoding.

“How fascinating,” Sevek said when he was done. “I always considered him an exceptional mind, if…excitable.”

“Sure,” Jim chuckled. “So, what happens now? Will they stop slaving?”

“In my timeline, this would have gone on for another two decades undetected.” He did something with his shoulders that – if Jim didn’t know better – would look like a shrug. “The margin of error has grown too wide for me to estimate.”

Jim considered that, looking at the dull sunset through the open window. “Do you always work so late?”

Sevek followed his gaze. “The days on Vulcan-that-was were long and severe. I am not yet so old that a gentle day of Terran length exhausts me.”

“Hm.” It was surprisingly normal, sitting here with Sevek. Almost like sitting with his own Spock, without all the baggage between them.

The office was sparse, without any personal touches. That was expected, what with Sevek being an ambassador and also a Spock. Jim had gotten that ironed out of him at Starfleet - before moving to San Fran, he’d been something of a hoarder. He liked owning things, liked thinking that whoever came into his house could know something about him just from looking at his walls.

There wasn’t a point in worrying about decorations on the ship. He was usually on the bridge or with Bones. Sometimes, though, the bare walls woke up something lonely and needy. It was never long after those feelings showed up that he sought Spock out for chess or food. Just his company, really.

“Is there something on your mind, James?”

Jim hesitated, then nodded. “Why doesn’t Spock trust you?”

Sevek sighed, rising slowly in the corner of Jim’s eye and gliding over to the window. Unlike the other Vulcans, his robes were gray. “Not one of us can be expected to face our own future with total ease. There are many things Spock learned from me that…that he could not accept as truth.”

“Why?” Jim asked, half-standing as Sevek started to push the window shut. His hand looked so frail, yet the pane slid closed with ease. Jim was unneeded. “Is something going to happen to him?”

“I did not intend to affect him so.” Sevek inhaled deeply, drawing his hands into the fabric. “Soon after our first meeting, while I remained on Earth, I offered to help in healing his broken _kah-ka_ bond with…with T’Pring. We melded. While I worked on his mind, he saw into mine. We are alike enough that it was remarkably difficult for me to hide that which needed hiding.”

“What would you need to hide from yourself?”

Sevek was silent for a long time. Jim took to picking at the hem of his shirt. If this was his Spock, he would just…

He sighed, clenching his nails in to his palm until his head cleared. If it was his Spock, he would just do his best to _annoy_ him into talking. Spock would either tell him or they’d fight. Not a bad fight. Just an argument. And if Jim got him worked up enough, he’d get so close Jim had to look up at him, tilting his chin. It would be thrilling, and it would be fun, and everything would be fine again the next day, because Spock could seem to hold a grudge with everyone but Jim.

Until recently.

“There are some things that must evolve naturally,” Sevek said with conviction. “It is not my place to interfere past what irreparable damage has already been caused by my presence.”

Jim didn’t like the sound of that. “If something bad is going to happen, I _need_ you to tell me.”

“Hardly,” Sevek chuckled. Jim frowned at his back – the laughing was different, but he was _definitely_ good ole’ cryptic Spock. “Though the concern is appreciated.”

 _Cross talk_ , Jim thought irritably. “Well, he specifically asked me not to meld with you. Why would he say something like that?”

Sevek turned, no trace of amusement on his startled face. “Indeed. I can think of only one reason.” He drifted closer, and Jim stood up. “Peace, James. I would not meld with you against my own wishes. May I?”

He held one hand out in a ta’al – exactly how T’Maya and Spock had done back on Kostolain. Trying not to blush, Jim responded, pressing their palms together. Sevek’s skin was very warm. There was a very faint, almost tickling sensation where they touched.

“What are you…” Jim stopped as Sevek broke into a smile, teeth and all. It was bizarre.

 _“T’hai'la_ ,” Sevek whispered. The tickling surged and then receded entirely as Sevek withdrew his hand. His eyes glistened, and Jim thought his own might be, too. There was a vice around his chest, squeezing in on his lungs.

“What’s it mean?” He asked, wanting desperately to know. 

“You are not aware of what has happened.”

It wasn’t a question. Only the overwhelming sensations in Jim’s torso kept him from showing his impatience. Sevek walked back around his desk, watching Jim in a calculating way. The set of his shoulders had changed into something exhausted. Like he alone carried the whole weight of the galaxy.

“You must talk to him, James.”

“Who, Spock?” It was eerily quiet without the ambient outdoor sounds. “You know what his problem is, don’t you? Why he’s been so touchy.”

Sevek didn’t say anything, his gaze too knowing.

“Well, _I’m_ totally in the dark. And you should know better than anyone just how much damage I can do from there,” he said. Sevek chuckled. “He won’t tell me anything.”

“Then you must make him.” He sank into his seat. “You have done it before.”

Jim snorted. “The last time I tried to _make_ him do anything he almost killed me.”

“And yet the desired goal was reached.”

“I _guess_ ,” Jim allowed. He looked at Sevek, pretending for a second that this was his Spock, instead. “If you would just tell me, maybe I could fix it. You said we were supposed to be friends, but…” He looked away, choosing his words carefully. “I don’t know if I can do it anymore.”

Sevek’s voice was gentle. “Look within, James. I do not believe you are alone in this sentiment.”

Jim nodded, his chest burning like he’d been punched. “Yeah. I thought so.”

He’d been so wrong about all of this that the timeline was totally fucked up. Even Sevek could see it – Spock and Jim wouldn’t have the long, ‘defining’ friendship of his life. They wouldn’t have anything.

“As usual, you arrive at your conclusions with all the grace of an untamed _sehlat_.”

“What?” Jim asked, trying to think through the pain. Sevek was smiling with everything but his eyes.

“I must meditate,” he said kindly, giving Jim a surprisingly stern look. “Promise me you will talk to him.”

“I…I promise.”

Sevek inclined his head. “Thank you, old friend.” His smile turned wry. “And if I were to give you one piece of selfish advice; be nice to him.”

Jim wasn’t sure what to make of that. Not at all. “I will. Thank you.”

It was darker when he stepped back outside. The windows in the tower glowed in the evening. Above that, the _Enterprise_ was docked in orbit. His crew would be waiting, probably ready to celebrate. There was no way he could fake his way through a party.

The moon here was smaller than Luna, making for darker nights and calmer tides. His feet took him to the right, toward the sound of gentle waves. Picking his way down the rocks was difficult enough to keep him from thinking too hard for a few minutes.

He left his shoes by the rocks and padded over the cool sand. There were a few orange lights set against the rocks, their glow brightening as night crept up. When out of reach of their glow, he sat. Freezing water washed over his feet. Heavy clouds concealed the moon, night covering Jim like a blanket. He couldn’t see ten feet in front of him.

Sevek wanted him to make Spock talk. That was much easier said than done, and, furthermore, Jim didn’t want to know what he’d say. That he regretted getting so close, or that this had all been a figment of Jim’s wishful thinking, and they had never been that close after all?

God, what was _happening_ to him? He’d _never_ had these kinds of feelings of self-doubt. Not over another person, not even quietly to himself. The depth of it was too much, too wide. He dug his toes into the wet sand, willing himself to feel anything but the painful melancholy that pulsed whenever Spock looked at him. It had been a _good day_. He hadn’t embarrassed himself in front of an Admiral, for once. A group of innocent people were saved from unimaginable horrors.

For whatever reason, it all didn't seem to matter.

Friend wasn’t good enough. It wasn’t enough for Jim, and it was probably too much for Spock. If he was pressed, Jim suspected that Spock would even say _Bones_ was his ‘friend’. And that relationship was so far from what Jim felt for him that he couldn’t stand it being compared.

How could he bring any of that up? It would ruin _everything_. What little he did have, he’d lose. The possibility alone made his mind kick into a blind panic. He was terrified that, without Spock by his side, he wouldn’t enjoy life in the stars at all.

“Jim,” came a soft voice from behind. He jumped and looked over his shoulder, just barely making out Spock’s silhouette in the near total darkness. It was strange that he’d found him here, but Jim didn’t trust himself to speak. He just turned forward and wrapped his arms around his knees.

Spock sat on the sand next to him, legs crossed to keep the water from touching his shoed feet. Jim honestly felt like he was losing his mind. All he could think was that this might be the last time they were together like this.

“Spock,” Jim said a long time later, when he was positive his voice wouldn’t shake. He felt so _strange_. Like a single word would shatter him to pieces. “What’s _thyla?”_

He knew Vulcans had really good eyesight, so he tried to keep his face as blank as possible. The water was just quiet enough for him to hear Spock when he answered.

“There are many meanings. _T’hai'la_ is what you are to me.”

Disgusting, traitorous hope sparked through the emptiness in Jim’s chest. He ignored it. Thoughts like that wouldn’t do either of them any good. “That’s not an answer.”

Spock sighed sharply, breaking the tense quiet. “I am…struggling…to put it to words.”

“You said it. While I was recovering. You called me _t’hai'la._ ” He tried harder to pronounce it right.

“Yes.”

This was moving too slowly. Jim came to an abrupt, reckless decision. “Meld with me,” he said.

Silence. The waves lapped once, twice, three times over his feet. He didn’t _want_ to wait for the phaser shot to hit him. And diving out of the way wasn’t an option. All he could do was step forward and hope it didn’t hit anything important.

“Meld with me, and you won’t have to say it. I’ll know. And…and you’ll know.”

Jim felt sick. This was it. If Spock melded with him, then everything Jim felt would be on display. And Spock could tell him he was wrong, all without either of them having to say a word.

“I…I cannot,” Spock whispered. “There is too much to be said.”

“Right.” Jim forced some bravado he didn’t feel. “Seems counterintuitive, but go ahead.”

He knew he was being watched. It hurt to be seen. The silence only seemed to grow thicker, and Jim wondered if Spock was waiting for him to speak. Well, it wasn't gonna happen. Jim was out of things to say.

“I have long lived between worlds.”

Spock’s voice was calm, and Jim closed his eyes to better hear the low timber of it.

“Home… was a strange concept to me. My mother understood this feeling, in her way. Earth was her home, and she felt its absence always when she was apart from it. She was very truly a Human. She never allowed that identity to be compromised, even living on a planet such as mine.”

Jim kept still, listening intently – Spock never talked about his mom. _Never_. He had only asked questions about her once or twice, more out of curiosity than pity. Even so, Spock always clammed up and whatever conversation they’d been having ended soon after.

“A Human, my people could understand. I was different, to them – not enough of either to satisfy. It was the same during my time on Earth. Neither society could fully accept me, and I abandoned any hope of feeling truly comfortable in either. It was an illogical wish, and yet…when I lost her, I felt more adrift than ever before.”

Spock’s breathing was uneven for a few moments. “Much has changed since then. I have formed one of the only true friendships of my entire life. I have been seen, and understood, and accepted. I have known you.”

Jim forced a shaky breath, keeping his eyes shut. If he opened them, he was scared he’d end up in his room having just woken up from the best dream.

“You…are so very Human,” Spock continued hesitantly. “It almost contradicts. The aspects of my personality that most would grow weary of, you choose to relate to. With anger, generally, I will grant. But you do not cast me aside. I can think of few others who have gone through the trouble.”

A hot tear burned down Jim’s face. Embarrassed, he reached to wipe it away, but a hand closed around his wrist. It shocked the utter hell out of him, to say the least. Spock didn’t touch him. Not ever. Jim couldn’t think of a single time there’d been any voluntary contact outside of a battle. Or a strangulation.

The hand around him was gentle, its touch buzzing under Jim’s skin just like Sevek’s had, only this was much stronger. Jim felt it all over his body. He looked up, finding only the barest shapes of Spock’s face in the darkness. When the tear started to roll down to his chin, Spock shifted, swiping it away with his other thumb.

“I apologize. My shields have never been strong in your presence. I believe my _katra_ has wanted you for far longer than I realized.”

Slowly, disbelieving, Jim lowered his hand to the sand, digging his fingers down. Spock didn’t let go.

“ _Katra_?”

“The life force inside of every Vulcan. It longs to be completed by that which completes it,” Spock murmured, like he was reciting an old children’s verse. “The other half. The ideal.”

Jim’s pulse pounded in his ears. “A soul bond. You tried to tell me.”

The fingers around his wrist contracted slightly. “Yes. I did not think you would remember – "

“That’s the night you yelled at me.” This couldn’t be happening. _This couldn’t be happening_.

Spock sighed. “Since the night of your near-death experience, it has been difficult – almost painful – to be near you. I did not anticipate how difficult it would become…how much it would impede my thoughts. My ability to maintain my shields is waning, and you are now able to intuit emotions from me.”

“You’re in my head.” Jim’s breath rushed out of him as he realized. _That’s_ what he’d been feeling. He wasn’t crazy! “You’re… you’re sad.”

“It is unforgivable. That night…I tried to render first aid as you seized. It was thoughtless – my shields were not strong enough at that moment, and when I touched you the bond was formed. I could not stop it. But,” he said, speaking louder as Jim opened his mouth. “It is not completed. It can still be dissolved.”

“Wha – no!” Jim said, then bit his tongue. “I mean – are…are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

Spock’s body moved slightly in the darkness. Maybe a nod. “You…are my home, howev – “

“So you _do_ want this? You’re not upset that it happened?” Because for everything Spock was saying, the sadness hadn’t let up one bit.

“Upset?” Spock whispered.

“Are you upset…” Jim squeezed his eyes shut. “That it’s me?”

His wrist was squeezed again, harder. “I am not.”

“Then why have you been so _sad_? This is…!” He trailed off, falling short of the vocabulary that this deserved.

“Jim, there is – “

“There’s what?” He laughed, exhilarated. “I want you, you want me. I’ve been going nuts trying to figure out how to tell you – “

“That is not enough.” Spock pulled his hand away slowly, two fingers trailing over the place where Jim’s heartbeat raced. “ _Want_ is not enough. I have long been aware that you desire me carnally. Please understand that if we continue – “

“ _Long_ aware?” Jim blurted on accident, his cheeks heating up just thinking about all the times he’d stared at Spock’s hands and thought very bad things. Spock had _known?_

“You project, Jim. Everything. And while my physical attraction to you is easily controlled, my… emotional attachments are unshakable. This is a vow I can never break.”

Jim wanted to touch him. So badly. Even if it was just to make sure this wasn’t a hallucination. “I know what it means to you. I’m saying yes.”

Spock said nothing. Jim was happy – beyond happy – but he didn’t _feel_ it. Another tear rolled down his cheek.

“Spock, stop making me cry. I just said I like you.”

“You are beautiful when you cry,” Spock said quickly. Jim blinked. No one had ever said anything like that to him. “It was unwise of you to come here unaccompanied.”

“Why?”

“Something has been watching us.” Spock pointed out to the darkness, and Jim yanked his feet out of the water.

“Yeah, okay. Let’s go.”

Jim stuck close to his side as they walked toward the lights. Spock found his shoes for him, and they climbed up the path in silence. Jim stumbled once when a rock slipped out from under him, and Spock grabbed his elbow. His touch lingered for only a moment, sending fire up Jim’s arm. Then he let go.

The lights became brighter as their footfalls passed from rock, to grass, to pavement. Jim could see Spock’s face again, and to his surprise there was no visible difference. Not that there should have been, it was just that _now_ , Jim knew all the sadness and doubt belonged to Spock. He kept it so hidden, so far away from his words and actions that Jim wondered how Vulcans stayed sane at all.

Knowing what he knew, Jim was able to separate himself from those feelings. He could find his own again. And he was very, very relieved.

“So, when I had the seizure, did I piss myself? Or worse?”

It didn’t work – Spock didn’t blush. “I do not recall.”

“That’s a lie. Oh, God, we totally bonded while I was covered in my own urine.”

Spock didn’t look at him, and the sadness Jim was trying really hard to ignore surged uncomfortably. It wasn’t a long walk back to the tower, but every second of silence freaked him out. They got into a turbolift together, and Spock directed it to the guest room floor before leaning heavily against the wall. Jim stared at him.

“You’re not beaming up?”

“I have decided to make use of my room here.”

“Or we could make use of my room,” Jim half-joked. He looked over Spock’s body freely, no longer needing to hold himself back from imagining.

“Jim, please refrain.”

“Why?” Jim asked, honestly curious. “How much of that can you feel?”

“Enough. I have no defense at this time.” He gestured for Jim to step off the lift first. “I have not slept in one hundred and twenty hours.”

Jim balked, doing the math until they stopped in front of what must have been Spock’s door. “That’s five days. How are you even on your feet?”

“It is not without effort.”

“But…why?”

Spock looked down. “Mental imbalance."

“Oh.” There was another question answered. It looked like Spock was to blame for his recent addiction to coffee.

Silence stretched out. Jim raised his eyebrows, waiting for Spock to say _anything_.

“I must retire.”

Anything but _that_.

“I don’t get it.” Jim stepped forward. Spock stepped away. “What’s happening right now? Aren’t we going to…” he lowered his voice, gesturing between them. “You said it wasn’t completed. Let’s complete it.”

“I do not believe either of us is in a state to make such a decision.”

Jim stared, confused and hurt, with a rapidly deflating bout of horniness. “I thought…I thought that’s what we just did. On the beach. Decided.”

Spock blinked heavily.

“So, let me get this straight – we _finally_ – “ He took a breath and lowered his voice again. “ _Talk_. And you just want to call it a night. Just like that.”

His emotions were a big confused mess, but he knew his words made Spock angry.

“I _know_ there’s something you’re not telling me!”

“I must meditate, Jim,” Spock said tiredly. He sounded just like Sevek. “We may discuss this after…after I have completed my duties regarding the pyrocite treatments.”

“That long,” Jim said in disbelief. He moved closer, and Spock didn’t back away this time. Jim could tell he was working very hard to keep a straight face. “You’re _so sad_ , Spock. You haven’t slept…”

“This is not a _whim_ ,” Spock hissed, nearly pleading. “Do not press me, Jim. Good night.”

The door slid quietly shut behind him, but it felt as final as if he’d slammed it.

____________________________

“I like this planet,” Scotty said, skipping a rock across the calm ocean surface. “Reminds me o’ home.”

“Just stay out of the water,” Jim warned, finding another flat stone near where he sat and handing it over.

It was warmer today, but still cloudy. Jim was finding it hard to focus on anything but Spock, and what he’d said on this very beach the night before. It was a wonder Jim had been able to sleep at all. They’d all pondered Spock’s emotions together in the past, laughing at his insistence that he didn’t have any. Jim would never have guessed that the poor guy was just sad and tired all the time.

Now, it was hard to tell which one of them was sad. Maybe they both were. Last night had been _weird._ Spock had said all those amazing things – everything Jim wanted to hear, and more _._ And then he’d sent him away. They hadn’t even kissed! What the hell kind of mixed signaling was that?

“Earth to Captain Jim,” Scotty whistled, hopping up and down in the surf with bare feet.

“What’d you say?”

“I said the tropics here are bonnie. Too warm for my tastes, but the crew migh’ like it. How ‘bout a few days on planet?”

“Tropics,” Jim leaned back on one arm. “What kind are we talking about, here? Miami? Malibu?”

Scotty shook his head. “Hawaii! Fiji! Vietnam! _Beaches_ , Jim.”

Jim laughed. “Well, I’ve never been to any of those places. Always wanted to go to Vietnam. Isn’t that funny?” He drug his finger through the sand, outlining the shape of the _Enterprise_. “Yeah, why not. Let’s not rush out of here.”

Jim certainly wasn’t rushing anything. He didn’t even bother going to see if Spock was in his room that morning, even though he’d been up early. Spock was always up earlier.

He must know how hard it was for Jim to just _wait_ like this. Of course he did. He was making this difficult on purpose. But why?

“Jim,” Scotty was saying, trying for his attention. Again.

“Huh?”

Scotty hung his head in defeat and walked over, dropping to the sand next to Jim. He looked down at the drawing, where Jim had added angry eyebrows and a frown.

“Ye know,” he said slowly, turning to face the surf. “My gran used to tell me – ‘whit’s fur ye’ll no let ye by’.”

Jim erased it with one hand, grinding the sand between his fingertips. “Your grandma spoke Kingon?”

“No.” Scotty pushed his shoulder, then paused. “Though she did fight like one. Point is – what’s gonna happen, will happen. No use worryin’ about it.”

Jim searched the waves, watching each one as it crested white and crashed over the sand. Scotty had seen right through him, of course. Jim hated that, but it was welcome advice. Impossible to follow, but welcome.

“Thanks,” he muttered. They sat there quietly for a while.

He was starting to find a pattern among his closest friends. They were all quiet. Scotty was completely at home in silence. Especially here. Maybe it was a Scottish thing; long silences on a foggy beach. Bones liked to complain, sure, but he also kept things very close to the chest. And Spock – the previous night notwithstanding – was like a locked, bolted, padlocked door behind a safe.

They all talked to Jim, though. And they all listened.

“Give me some more advice,” Jim said.

“Not so easy, when I don’t know yer problem.”

Jim doubted that. “Doesn’t matter. Hit me.”

Scotty laid back in the sand. “Don’ marry for money?”

Jim laughed. He had no idea if Spock had money. Probably, considering how important his dad was. “That one doesn’t quite work.”

“Tha’ one _always_ works. How ‘bout…beggars cannae be choosers?”

That would apply to Spock, Jim thought darkly. He was stuck with Jim as a soulmate.

No, he couldn’t let himself go down that path. Spock said he wasn’t upset that it was Jim. He said Jim was his _home_ , and if it were anyone else that would be more than enough confirmation. He couldn’t beg Spock to open up to him and then be unhappy with what he said. That wasn’t fair.

“I’m going up to the tower,” he said, getting to his feet. “You coming?”

“Away with ye,” Scotty dismissed, waving him off. He opened one eye. “An’ the beaches?”

Like Jim could think that far ahead at a time like this. “Sure. Tomorrow. You’ll arrange it?”

“If you’ll get the booze.”

“I think I’ve got some credits on board.”

“Then I think we’ve got a deal, _Captain_.”

He smiled. “See you, Scott.”

Trudging up the walk, he decided he’d work on Chekov’s promotion. It wouldn’t be too much trouble. Just an official commendation for Bovet to approve, which Jim had no doubt he would do.

The irritation started in the turbo up to guest quarters. Out of nowhere, and without any particular cause. Jim had a good guess where it was coming from – Spock was on the ship working with Bones, after all.

At least, that’s what he’d _thought._ So it was a shock to hear Bones’ voice as he stepped out into the hall.

“You are _not_ fine, Spock. Let me scan you. It could be pyrocite poisoning.”

“It is not.” Spock’s voice was iron and steel. Jim rounded the corner, immediately met by two angry pairs of eyes. Spock looked worse than he had the night before – the circles under his eyes were more green than yellow. Every line of his body screamed weakness.

Bones just looked pissed.

“Look at him, Jim. He’s falling apart.”

The annoyance in Jim’s chest flared in time with Spock’s nostrils. Jim walked closer, taking in his relatively disheveled appearance. He _did_ look terrible, and, damn it, _why_ hadn’t he let them complete the stupid bond thing last night?

“I agree,” Jim said carefully. “Did you guys finish the treatments already?”

“Not likely.” Bones put his hand on his hip, gesturing to Spock. “When this one didn’t show up this morning – hell, when he didn’t beat me there – I figured you two might be playing hooky.”

Jim raised his eyebrow at the implication. Even though that’s what he _wished_ they’d been doing. “Why would you think – ?”

“When the third hour rolled on by and I still hadn’t heard from him, I checked here. To find _this._ If you’ll just come to the ship so I can scan you – “

“It is wholly unnecessary,” Spock said with venom.

“I’ll decide what is or ain’t!”

“You forget that I also retain a medical degree. Based on _your_ presenting symptoms, I suggest a diagnosis of weakened mental faculties bordering on the imbecilic – “

“Listen here, you – “

“Okay!” Jim said loudly, holding his hands out for peace. Things were all back to normal with these two, at least. “Spock, if you have pyrocite poisoning, you could die.”

Spock furrowed his brows. “You know it to be otherwise.”

Bones made a show of turning to Jim, clearly waiting for an explanation. Jim kept his eyes on Spock, wondering if he should be trusted to actually diagnose himself right now.

“Is there _anything_ Bones could do that would help you?”

Spock narrowed his eyes in challenge. “If the Doctor were able to provide any help to anyone, I would be greatly surprised.”

Bones puffed up his chest.

“At least we’re being polite,” Jim muttered.

“Careful, Spock. I can have you removed from duty if you refuse treatment.”

Spock looked at Jim meaningfully before dropping his gaze. Engrossing sadness took hold, and Jim couldn’t speak for a second, wracked with guilt. How was this on _him?_

Bones glanced between them, more irritated by the second.

“He’s just tired,” Jim managed, deciding to be at least partially truthful. “He hasn’t been sleeping."

“Why didn’t you just _say_ that, Spock?”

“It is true,” Spock relented, after another stubborn silence. “I have canceled my appointments for the day.”

“Well, great. Glad I came all the way down here so you could tell me you were _tired_.”

“I can come help, if you need it,” Jim offered, feeling a little responsible for Spock’s absence. Bones laughed derisively, storming down the hall.

“Yeah, and we’ll let my Yeoman pilot the ship!”

Jim watched him go, sighing. “You got lucky, him giving up. You look like shi – _oh.”_

The moment Bones rounded the corner, a hand fisted into Jim’s collar and he was jerked forward almost violently. His back slammed against the closed door a second later. In anticipation, he’d turned his face up excitedly. But Spock wasn’t about to kiss him. It looked more likely that he’d vomit.

Their only point of contact was Spock’s iron grip on his shoulders. His eyes were shut, breaths coming with apparent difficulty. “You didn’t sleep last night,” Jim guessed, feeling the need to whisper. The room was so warm, it felt like his words couldn’t get through the thick air.

“No.”

He reached up, awkwardly placing his hand over Spock’s. The zinging sensation spread for a brief second before Spock jerked his grip down length of his arms, pinning Jim’s hands to his sides.

“You don’t want me to touch you,” Jim observed. Spock’s eyebrows pulled together.

“That – it is not – “

“Or…” Jim chewed his bottom lip. Spock opened his eyes, watching him. “You think that’s _all_ I want to do. You think I’m being impulsive.”

Spock continued to look surprised. Jim smiled – he’d had a long, lonely night to try and figure Spock out. It looked like he hit the nail on the head.

“It is…” Spock took a second to breathe, his eyes big and dark. “It is Human nature to want what one cannot have.”

“That’s true,” Jim allowed. “But that’s not what this is. I can feel what you’re feeling. Can’t you feel me?”

“I can.” Spock’s thumbs stroked the outside of Jim’s wrists in a very distracting way. “I feel only your desire.”

Shit. “I – I can’t control that. I’m sorry if you don’t believe me, but it’s true. If you’re waiting for me to control it so everything buried underneath can come out, that’s not gonna happen.”

Especially not when they were this close, with Spock breathing like _that_.

“You expressed no small amount of levity last night.” Spock pushed his hands up the slightest amount, under Jim’s sleeves.

“I’m sorry. I know how you hate levity.”

“And your reservations,” Spock went on. He was trying to get at something, but Jim didn’t know what. Maybe he was genuinely trying to talk him out of it. Or talk himself out of it.

But he was undercutting his own words, leaning forward like a man in a trance, until their foreheads touched. Jim was trying so hard to be patient. “You do not wish for others to be made aware of our bond.”

“I think – “ Jim took in the fragrance he’d been trying so hard to ignore the past few weeks. And now he could smell the sweetness of Spock’s breath. “I think they already know.”

Spock’s hands tightened even more. Their mouths were _so close_. All of them was. Spock leaned against him so heavily Jim suspected he wouldn’t stay upright on his own.

“I don’t understand why you’re in so much pain.”

“We have not… _tel-t’hai'la_ must be consummated through a meld. If you were Vulcan, you would feel the same as I. It is challenge enough to keep the worst of it away from you.”

“Don’t.” Jim closed his eyes, brushing their noses together. Spock made a pained sound deep in his throat. “Let me help.”

“My James,” Spock whispered. It was all Jim needed to hear. He sighed as two burning hands cradled his face, sensation sparking under his skin. It was getting stronger, like Spock was reaching right into him. “I have loved you – “

Jim couldn’t take it anymore. He tilted his chin up.

Spock’s lips burned against his, soft and firm and everything he imagined he would feel if they ever did this. There were so many people Jim had kissed – had _enjoyed_ kissing – that it was confusing how immediately he knew that he would never want to kiss anyone else ever again. Not on pain of death.

And Spock was kissing him _back_. Fiercely. Like Jim was the air he needed to breathe. He pulled Spock’s hips to his, closing the distance in every way he could. Fingers brushed over the small hairs on the back of his neck, and for the first time all day, Spock wasn’t sad. Instead, Jim felt a swooping elation that was both of theirs.

The inside of his mouth was incredibly warm, which was an exciting prospect. And he was sweet. It was like making out with a bowl of… boiling spumoni ice cream. Something like that, but much sexier. Jim ran his fingers along the hem of his trousers, wondering what the rest of him tasted like.

Logically, he knew Spock had slept with Nyota. And if his instincts with women were still worth anything, he would bet she was nuts in the sack. So, no, Spock was not a virgin. But the way he licked into Jim’s mouth and fisted his hand into his hair was _very_ surprising. What was even more surprising was how it made Jim’s knees go completely weak. He usually took charge in situations like this, but sitting back and letting Spock have his way was starting to sound very okay, too.

As soon as his fingers slipped under fabric and met warm skin, Spock flinched, breaking away and basically slamming his forehead into the door by Jim’s neck.

“J-Jesus!” Jim gasped, trying to look at him. “Are you okay?!”

“We must meld.” Spock dragged them backwards without allowing any distance between their bodies. “Sit. This may overwhelm you.”

Already overwhelmed, Jim let himself be lowered to the edge of the bed, eyes wide as Spock slid down to kneel between his legs, gripping his waist tightly.

“Spock,” Jim panted, shaking his head in disbelief and settling his hands on broad shoulders. His dick strained to get out of his unfortunately restricting pants. “Can we do this with our clothes off?”

“ _Ashayam,_ ” Spock’s voice was thin with some unseen effort. “You may refuse. I ask you once more to reconsider.”

“Kiss me like that again, and I’ll let you do whatever you want.” Jim leaned forward, but Spock turned his head, frowning.

Jim sighed, turning him back with a hand on his chin. Those bottomless dark eyes were always inviting. Always beautiful. And now, impossibly, Jim was about to be allowed to see behind them. “Fine. I give you my total, one hundred percent non-horny consent to meld with me.”

“ _I eh’ekkwon-sum,”_ Spock said, his voice deepening to speak the Vulcan words. Jim felt a mounting anticipation that didn’t belong to him. “Now and for all time.”

Jim nodded, unable and unwilling to look away, even as long fingers brushed over his cheek, his lips, his nose. Finally, they settled over the same points Sevek had touched. Spock took a deep breath, his stiff expression melting into something open and admiring.

“My mind to your mind.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this one was short but I couldn't give up the cliffhanger so the next update will be worth the wait I promise <3


	6. Meld

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder that this fic is rated E for explicit content and F for foot-in-mouth disease (thank you jbarr37 for my new favorite term).

It was very bright. Thousands of colors in differing shades of white, swirling like oil on top of water. Sound and sight were the same – there were whispers and sighs, shadows and bursts. After an indeterminate period of adjustment, floating, he wondered where Spock was.

Just as he thought it, the brightness constricted, pushing toward him like a great ocean swell. Into him. He didn’t fight as it sank through, saturating every part of him with light.

 _Ha’ge-ashal-ha’su,_ came a voice. Not Sevek, but Spock’s warm, rich tones. Jim didn’t know what he said, but he got the impression it was some sort of pet name. Hopefully nothing too insulting. _My mind is yours. You may see anything you wish. I will show it._

Anything? Jim tried to look around the white space, but he didn’t have a body. He couldn’t do anything but think, and he didn’t know where to start. There was so much he didn’t know about Spock. A whole lifetime of things.

The bright white void changed around him, filling with color and movement in bright bursts of color that swam at first, like colored dye in water. Jim looked up at a women he knew to be Spock’s mother, both from the inherent feelings of warmth and love that surrounded the memory, and the fact that she had his eyes.

Golden afternoon sun beamed through the windows of a lived-in kitchen. Plants lined the windowsills, some that Jim recognized and many that he didn’t. Amanda picked a leaf from something herblike, handing it down. Jim – Spock – reached out a small, young hand and took it.

“Try it,” she encouraged. Spock placed the leaf in his mouth and Jim could taste it – sharp and horrible. Amanda laughed and crouched down, allowing him to spit the offending, soggy plant into her open palm. “No good?”

“It offends me." The voice from his mouth was high pitched. Spock couldn't be more than five or six.

Amanda sighed and dumped the leaf into a sink basin. “You take after your father with food. I can’t breed a cilantro any blander than that.”

“Perhaps you should not try,” Spock advised. “There are lots of plants native to this planet that do not contain such a poisonous flavor.”

Amanda smiled and shook her head.

“Spock,” boomed a deep voice. Sarek walked into the room, tall and imposing. In the memory, Jim could feel the way Spock straightened his spine in attention. “Do not allow your mother to influence you with her vulgar language.”

“Apologies,” Spock said quickly, heart-wrenchingly eager to please. “There are a _variety_ of plants.”

Amanda cast a disapproving look at her husband. “I thought you _liked_ my vulgarities, darling.”

The Spock in the memory didn’t understand the innuendo, but he was appalled at the strange blush on his father’s face. Jim would have laughed if he knew how.

The kitchen dissolved back to white – it seemed Spock was done with that particular scene. Apprehension hummed through the space, because he knew what Jim wanted to see next.

This memory was slower to form. He straddled a writhing, sobbing Jim. It was an unsettling, backwards feeling to look at his own face, flipped in perspective. More than that, he looked _terrible._ Eyes bloodshot, tears and snot just all over the place. Memory-Spock forced a hand over his mouth to call out to the computer. It muffled what Jim was saying, but not entirely. Not enough.

The words were broken and slurred, but he called Spock a half-breed. He screamed that he would never be Jim’s friend. That Jim _hated_ him. That Spock had never been wanted on his ship, in the first place – he was a terrible First Officer and a worse Vulcan.

Jim couldn’t believe the things he was hearing out of his own mouth, yet the memory was surely exact. He’d never felt so low as he did at that moment. How must it have felt, to hear all of that from someone who claimed to be your friend? And then to find out they were supposed to be your soulmate…

 _T’nash-veh,_ Spock said. Behind the words was a sort of soundless message: Jim was completely forgiven. _We have inflicted pain on each other in equal measure._

Jarringly, Spock sprang the choking incident on him. Spock had a lot of feelings about this memory - anger, shame, regret. He shouldn't have felt bad. Jim totally deserved what he'd gotten. Another instance of him saying horrible, unforgivable things.

 _Harsh words do not equal harsh actions_.

Jim thought he was wrong about that, but their agreement drifted off as another memory took form.

A crowded hallway at the Academy. The Science wing, it looked like. Spock stood outside a classroom, waiting for someone. His eyes passed over the crowd, disinterested until he noticed a far off figure.

Jim stood with Bones, clearly arguing with him about something. Spock watched them for a long moment before there was a gentle touch to his arm.

“Ready to go, Professor?” Nyota asked, smiling.

That faded, leaving Jim in the familiar white voice. He remembered that fight with Bones…just before the second Kobayashi Maru test. Spock had _noticed_ him?!

_It was shon-ha-lock. I only recognize this in hindsight._

Jim didn’t know what that meant. He was still reeling, picturing a world where Jim had seen Spock, too. Would they have spent so much time hating each other if they hadn’t met at that damned disciplinary hearing?

He was looking at himself again – Spock had taken them back to the night he almost died. The memory was further along. Jim’s eyes had rolled to the back of his head, and Spock was panicking.

Real, visceral _panic_. It throbbed through the memory like a stab wound. He rolled Jim to the side, saying his name as though that would have any effect. Jim’s body jerked and twisted when Spock hit his back sharply to expel the vomit. He stuck his fingers down Jim’s throat to clear his airway, holding his jaw open easily with his strength.

It was an accident, a slip of his hand. He didn’t meld, but the moment his fingertips made contact with the right points, there was a jolt like electricity. It rang through every part of his mind, unmistakable. A bond.

Shock and overwhelming shame. But it felt _right_.

Jim wanted to feel that for himself, instead of in a memory. But there was just void.

_It is here, t’hai'la. You cannot reach it yet._

In what felt like the very center of Jim’s incorporeal form, a string was plucked. Everything shivered and quaked as waves of that feeling cascaded over him. The white intensified, blasted into him with a pleasure so sharp it was almost pain. Jim was helpless against it, yet he got the distinct feeling that Spock was watching him, amused.

The string was plucked again, and it was the strangest feeling. Uncomfortable in its severity. Jim didn’t know how to relate to it without a body to feel sensation.

 _Brace yourself,_ Spock warned, and before Jim could actually try and do that, the bright lights went dark. It was like falling, or the feeling of falling that wakes you up from a dream. He became aware of his body very slowly.

Every part of him felt loose and boneless in a way he only normally associated with sex. He panted, trying to catch his breath like he’d been running. And he was hot, flushed all over because the person wrapped around him was like a _million_ degrees.

Spock’s fingers left the meld points to wrap around the back of his neck, holding their foreheads together. They breathed each other’s air.

“Are you well?” He asked hesitantly.

Jim had no idea. His head felt funny. It buzzed and tilted like he’d been drinking.

“The bond has altered your neural pathways. You will adjust.”

Jim was clinging to Spock in a very undignified way, he realized. He unwound sticky, hot hands from his undershirt.

“You are overheated.” Spock had to push him into a sitting position, which was humiliating. Jim started to take his sweat-soaked overshirt off, but the movement brought something much worse to his attention. Oh, no _way!_

Spock glanced down to Jim’s crotch, raising an eyebrow.

“You can still hear my thoughts,” Jim said out loud. Unlike Spock, his voice was hoarse and ragged. “Oh, my God. Get off me!”

He tried to push Spock away – an extremely uncomfortable movement considering the wet mess in his pants – but couldn’t get free. Spock trapped his hands at his side, using his strength to keep him there. He felt Spock’s amusement, but it wasn’t as intense an intrusion as his feelings had been an hour ago.

“Spock! Are you serious?”

“I am always,” Spock said, even though they both knew it was ridiculous. “You do not need to feel ashamed.”

“You did this on purpose!”

“Truly, I did not.” Spock frowned at him. “You are angry.”

“Let go,” Jim repeated. Spock released him, leaning back enough for Jim to get his legs free and stand up. Ugh, walking was even worse. He got in the shower and let freezing cold water run over his body for a few minutes, breathing hard. For once, his brain didn’t spin with thoughts. The orgasm must have taken care of that.

When he stepped out and toweled off, he saw fresh clothes had been placed on the counter. He got dressed, feeling strangely modest. What had just happened was the most intimate experience of his life, but it _wasn’t_ sex. There was just no way Spock was seeing his dick for the first time at anything less than its best.

“Was it not enjoyable?” Spock asked almost anxiously when Jim returned from his sonic shower. He’d taken his spot on the edge of the bed, his hands on his knees and not a hair out of place. Jim looked over him suspiciously.

“Did you…?”

Spock turned his head to the side. "Did I what?"

"You didn't." Jim sighed and sat next to him. “Yeah, it was enjoyable. I just...I’ve basically made it my life mission to be good at sex. And you just had me jizzing in my pants like a teenager.”

There was a muted, confusing flutter of emotions across the bond. Spock turned to watch him lie on his back, setting a hand on his knee. “That was the most intense meld I have ever experienced.”

“Really?” For whatever reason, that was a relief.

“With practice, you will gain some measure of control.”

“Here’s hoping,” Jim said sarcastically. He crossed his arms under his head. “Actually, it doesn’t matter all that much. I liked you showing me stuff.”

He thought about pulling Spock down beside him, but Spock was already doing it, settling on his side with a hand under his face.

“Will you always be able to read my thoughts, now? Because I guarantee a lot of fighting if that’s the case.”

“I cannot ‘read’ your thoughts. It is more intuitive a process than that. Why would we fight?”

Jim cleared his throat. “No reason. Um, I have a question.”

“Ask it.”

“Sevek said he showed you some things that you didn’t like. I guess I know what that was, now.” Jim turned his head, smiling at the sight of Spock not standing at parade rest for once. “He and his Jim were together, too.”

Spock’s face was impassive. “Yes.”

“So you’ve known that for a year. That we’re _thyla_ , or whatever.” Spock pressed his lips together. “Why didn’t you just…I don’t know. I mean, you knew I ‘desired you carnally’, right?”

Spock took a deep breath, all sorts of sad and confused feelings coming through the bond.

“My counterpart and yours had a markedly different…relationship. They were older when they first met, and, like us, developed a strong friendship.” He paused, thinking. “It was an affair of the mind long before it was physical. Your counterpart was aware of the bond, and allowed for its consummation. He did not wish for the relationship to take a physical aspect, and there were many years where they maintained the bond platonically. Your counterpart took other lovers.”

Jim raised his eyebrows. “What? And Spo – Sevek went along with that?” Spock nodded. “Wow. Other-me sounds like kind of an asshole.”

Spock gazed at him seriously.

“Hey, come on,” Jim pushed himself up on one elbow, nudging Spock’s knee with his own. “That’s him. That’s not me. I couldn’t do that to you.”

“Indeed.” Spock said. Obviously, there was something else.

“And I’m not planning on sleeping around on you. If we ever get around to that, anyway.”

That was it. Spock’s feelings relaxed. Jim pulled one hand from under his head and reached out very slowly, still unsure about how to do this with him. When Spock didn’t complain, he gingerly ran his fingers through the short, dark hair. It was thick and soft.

“So…” Jim laid back, looking up at the ceiling and stroking Spock’s hair. It was a little like petting a cat. He could feel a quiet, purring hum of pleasure through the bond. “You’re mad that he showed you all that?”

“My…feelings,” he admitted. “are complicated, regarding my counterpart. If he melded with you, James, it was because his broken _t’hai'la_ bond wishes to be completed.”

Jim looked up at the ceiling, remembering Sevek’s sad sort of happiness for him. For them. He hadn’t asked – and he really didn’t need to know – but he wondered if the other Jim was still alive when Sevek had been dropped into their dimension, or if he had died. Sevek seemed pretty old, but Vulcans had longer lifespans. Maybe he had just outlived him. Both options were pretty bad.

“I don’t know what I would do without you,” Jim said quietly.

He looked over. Spock was fast asleep, cheek smushed against the mattress, his expression serene instead of blank. One hand lay flat between their bodies. It was all so incredibly surreal, dreamlike. Jim touched a finger to the light green puffiness under Spock’s eye.

How could any version of him not want any version of _this?_ There was nothing else for him, and he should have realized it a long time ago. A year ago. _More_. Spock had waited for him for too long.

Carefully, he stood up and crept to the door, pulling his boots on and casting long limbs one last look. The bond was quiet as he stepped into the hall.

“Mazel tov.”

He spun, trying not to look too much like someone who’d just watched a guy sleep and _liked_ it.

“What are you doing here?” Nyota asked, smiling deviously.

They _did_ know. Her and Scotty. Probably Bones, too. What a bunch of assholes, keeping it from him for so long.

“Just, um,” he gestured to the closed door. “Checking on Spock.”

“No.” She shook her head. “That’s what _I_ was doing. Nice pants.”

He looked down at the pants he’d had to roll up. “What, a guy can’t borrow a pair – ?”

“I won’t tell Leonard.”

They’d spoken at the same time. Her smile widened.

“You won’t tell Leonard _what_?”

She moved around him, heading further down the hall. “Nothing.”

“I thought you were checking on Spock!”

Her shoulder lifted in an exaggerated shrug. “Something tells me he’s already been taken care of.”

“Alright, Miss Know-It-All," he said, following. "How would you feel about shore leave here?”

“Shore leave?” She sounded surprised.

“Yeah. Scott said his crew could use a break. Besides, he told me about some kick-ass beaches down on the equator.” He stopped at his own door, typing his code. “What do you think?”

“Shore leave, definitely. I’ll ask around about the beach.” She bit her lip. “Spock doesn’t swim.”

“Maybe I’m not inviting Spock,” Jim tried snidely, stepping into his room.

“Sure,” she called, already at a distance.

_____________________

Despite Bones’ joking, he did let Jim help with the treatments. It was mostly standing there and handing stuff over when Bones asked for it, but they were done by 1300.

“I take it Spock’s asleep down there?” Bones asked while he finished the materials report.

Jim decided to feign ignorance, just for the fun of it. “I guess so. Haven’t heard from him.”

He looked up from the empty test tube he was twisting in his hands, finding Bones watching him with open suspicion.

“You know what’s wrong with him.”

Jim shrugged. “He’ll be fine tomorrow, I’m sure.”

“And that has nothin’ to do with what you’ve been smilin’ about all day?”

“I, uh.” Jim cleared his throat, setting the test tube down. “I never smile. That’s ridiculous. Wanna go to the beach tomorrow?”

“You call that down there a beach?”

“On the equator.” Jim sat down and crossed his legs. “Nyota said she’d go.”

“If we get all this done, then sure. As long as you – “

“Get the booze? I’m way ahead of you.”

“There’s a plan,” Bones smiled. “Now, I could use some help tracking down these Ferengi.”

“They’re not in their rooms?” Jim hadn’t seen them out and about this entire journey. They’d all stayed in their quarters.

“They’re all over the place. I even had two in here asking me questions about the treatments.”

“What kinds of questions?”

“Well, for one, they had no idea what a pyrocite was. I had to explain why it’s dangerous to everyone else, but not to them. Of course, they didn’t understand what a bloodborne pathogen was, either.”

“Aww,” Jim crooned, setting his chin on his hand. “Teacher Bones.”

Bones shot him an unimpressed look. “I’m used to it, with you around.”

“Did they…you don’t think they had any ill intent by asking, do you?” Ferengi were known to be deceptive.

“I don’t think so. Just curious.”

“Hm. Good. I’m glad they know they can ask questions.” He brought his hands down on the desktop. “Let’s do it.”

__________________________

The Yeomen had made it their personal project to use the replicators to make new robes in whatever color the Ferengi wanted. So it was in a bright blue tunic that Fon walked alongside Jim to the nearest observation room down in the tower.

“It compliments my skin greatly, do you not think?” She asked, pulling at the fabric.

“Uh, yeah, totally,” Jim said, smiling. “Matches your eyes.”

“And yours,” she said offhandedly, clearly distracted by the view. They hadn’t shown any particular interest in getting off the ship. Even now, he got the sense she wasn’t impressed.

“What do you think?”

She bared her teeth. It was somewhere between a grimace and a smile. “It is acceptable, for Humans.”

He laughed. “You don’t like fog, I take it?”

“Fog?” She looked up at him. “What is Fog?”

Jim pointed to the low-hanging clouds over the water.

“Ah. Gleb. No, the gleb is welcome. It is the extreme sun that I do not like.”

“Sun?” Jim said doubtfully, looking down at where the slightest beam of light shone on a patch of grass.

“Ferenginar is dark, always. Glebbening, always. Much more comfortable.”

“Glebbening?”

Fon nodded, waving her fingers in the air. “When the water falls.”

“So…rain?”

She patted his arm in a proud way. “Very good.”

“Thanks.” Uncertainly, he followed her over to a table at the back of the room, where other green-and-purple clad Ferengi were…well, he didn’t know what. They seemed to be replicating one of _everything_ , arranging it in some sort of presentational spread. It was way too much for them to eat, surely.

“I like this one,” a shorter, darker-skinned woman said. Her accent was thick. “You will try.”

Fon took what looked like an icoberry from a bowl, sniffing it loudly before eating it. “It is good, Daq. You must make more.”

“Yes.” Daq shuffled back to the replicator set in the wall.

“Are you…” Jim looked at the array of foods. They were from all different places, and the only thing in common that he could see was that none them were all…mushy. Nothing whatsoever that would crunch. “Preparing for something?”

“Oh, yes, Captain,” another one said, arranging a plate of drayjin meats just so. “We will be joined by the handsome one.”

Jim raised his eyebrows.

“The Keenser,” Daq clarified, sighing. “He is beautiful.”

“Oh,” Jim said faintly. “Well. I guess I’ll leave you to it.” He glanced over the table again. “Try the ice cream. It’s Terran.”

____________________________

He killed some time in the gym with Sulu and a few other crew. They played volleyball, which was good for working up a sweat and also focusing – if he couldn’t keep his mind on the task at hand, he’d get hit in the face. Hard.

After that, afternoon was turning to evening. The bond was still silent…but surely seven hours of sleep was enough, right? And Spock would be hungry, surely. Jim went to the dining room on their floor, looking through the Vulcan options. All grain or broth based, with increasingly strange names.

 _Tolik_ looked like fruit. It replicated all sliced up, arranged neatly on a small plate. Jim put it on a tray and hit the button above it. _Saffir_ – it looked and tasted like rye bread. _Nokar_ reminded him of scalloped potatoes. He set those aside and looked at the beverages, only recognizing one. _Relen_ tea was the one Spock liked, and the only thing he ever consumed outside of mealtimes.

It was hard to ignore how silly this felt. His instinct told him that Spock wouldn’t want any of this, that he would be offended that Jim had brought it at all.

That was how it would have gone before. Now, they'd...well. It was different now. Spock could suck it up.

Jim balanced the tray on one hand and knocked softly on the door. There was no answer, but an awareness flickered into being in the back of his head. He _felt_ that Spock was awake.

“Spock?” He called, praying that no one he knew would walk around the corner and find him calling Spock’s name like Romeo. “It’s just me.”

The door opened, throwing light into the darkened room. Spock was in the process of sitting up – and he was shirtless. Jim almost broke into a cold sweat at the sight of thick, dark hair covering his chest.

“Computer,” he said, looking at the food. “Increase lamp by thirty percent.”

The lamp next to the bed turned on, its soft golden light filling the room.

“Hey.” Jim crossed the room, ignoring Spock’s pale stomach in favor of his sleepy, confused frown. “I thought you might be hungry.”

Spock looked at the tray, then at Jim, then through the window. “The time?”

“1930.” He sat on the bed, pushing the tray down on a flat spot. The mattress creaked as Spock sat up further, sitting back against the headboard. Jim smiled as he drew the tray into his lap.

“Is it normal practice for you to eat while in bed?”

His voice was low, huskier than usual. Jim was going to die a slow, horny death.

“It’s the best place for it, in my opinion,” he said, tugging at his collar. Spock commanded the temperature down fifteen degrees, taking the lid from the mug and raising it to his lips.

“I did not intend to sleep so long.”

Jim kicked his shoes off and crossed his legs, facing him. “You needed it. You need more, probably.”

Long fingers picked at the bread. Jim could just barely feel him, in the back of his head. Not sadness, exactly. Disappointment?

“What’s wrong?” He asked nervously. “I just kind of picked food at random.”

Spock looked up, eyes amused. “Remarkable, then, that you have brought only dessert courses.”

“What?” Jim looked at the food, bewildered. “Even _that?_ ”

“ _Nokar_ ,” Spock cut into the not-potatoes. “Fruit.”

He held the fork out, and Jim had to collect himself for a second before leaning in to take it. It was…fruit- _like_. Crunchy like a pear, and what had looked like cheese before was some kind of honey. It tasted like a sweet potato.

“I like it,” Jim managed. Spock drew the fork back.

“If you would refrain your usual intake of artificial sugars, this would become more palatable.”

He offered a stabbed slice of the other fruit. Jim took it, wincing at the foreign texture. “I could say the same to you,” he said around a mouthful. “Fruit has so much more potential than this – tomorrow I’m taking you on a pie tour.” He swallowed it down, trying not to gag. “This tastes like walnuts.”

“Astringent polyphenolic biomolecules. You call it tannic acid.”

“I call it _gross_.” Jim reached over for the tea, to wash it down. “Should I bring something different?”

“I am not hungry,” Spock said quietly. Another wave of dissatisfaction.

Jim took the tray and stuck it on the bedside table. He shifted closer to Spock’s legs, making sure not to touch him. Even though he desperately wanted to, he wasn’t sure where they stood, exactly. Maybe what happened earlier had only been a byproduct of Spock’s…emotional state.

“What’s wrong?” He asked tentatively. “Should I leave – ?”

“No.” Spock frowned like he was offended at the suggestion. “That is not what I want.” He leaned back against the pillows, pectorals shifting in a way that made Jim’s mouth water. “My behavior today was unacceptable. I have failed both you and the doctor.”

Jim shrugged. “We got it done.”

Spock nodded, his long lashes downcast.

“He won’t hold it against you. He was worried, that’s all.”

“I highly doubt – “

“You’re his patient, Spock. And it’s pretty clear you weren’t lying about being sick.” He hesitated, then decided to push his luck. Just a little. “You pull off the whole no-sleep thing _really_ well, by the way.”

Spock raised his eyebrows. “Are you attempting to compliment me?”

“…Yes. I am. Is it working?”

“It is not,” Spock said, sitting up. “Though I welcome further attempts.”

“Um.” Jim fought a grin, thinking of something that would be more Spock’s speed. “Got it: Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art lovely and more temperate.”

Spock very nearly, almost _actually_ smiled. Jim’s heart thumped as he reached out, taking Jim by the hand to pull him on top of his body. He leaned into it, planting one knee on either side of his hips. Every inch of his body thrummed for more, but as he leaned down Spock flipped them over in a jarring movement. Now he was between Jim’s legs, the pressure against his crotch making him bite back a moan.

“Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May.” Spock pressed his lips against Jim’s throat. “And summer’s lease,” his chin, “hath all too short a date,” his lips. Finally.

This kiss lacked all the fiery intensity of that morning. It was slow and gentle. Jim had never felt so relieved – he’d half feared that this point would be difficult to reach again. What was even scarier was how little it mattered. He wanted Spock a lot, but he’d never push him into it.

He’d wait as long as it took, because Spock’s tongue in his mouth was a wonder in its own right. Jim ran his hands over his back, where muscle shifted under hot skin. And lower, where he discovered that Spock was still wearing pants. It wasn’t until the buzzing started under his jaw that he realized where Spock’s fingers had migrated.

“No!” He pulled his face away, noting Spock’s disappointed frown. “Do…do we have to do that right _now?_ ”

Spock pulled away from him completely. Jim made a pleading sound, worried he’d said the wrong thing. But Spock was only jerking the covers back so he could undo Jim’s fly. Without thinking – past the barrage of _yes yes yes_ ’s – Jim lifted his hips up so his pants and underwear could be yanked down in two swift pulls. This was less intimidating than anything else. This was muscle memory.

His cock sprang up against his stomach, smearing a warm wetness. He pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it to the other side of the room. Thank God - the God who was clearly changing his mind about Jim - for the fact that he’d gone to the gym that morning. A glance down at his abs told him that everything was in perfect condition.

He lay there, exposed and waiting. It took him a second to come out of his narcissistic musings enough to noticed that Spock seemed to have stalled out. Jim’s trousers hung from one of his hands, forgotten.

“You’re frowning at my cock,” Jim commented. Spock looked up guiltily. “Not that I mind…but I was hoping to get to stare at you, too.”

He raked his eyes down Spock’s stomach, stopping at his crotch. For the first time, he noticed the distinct lack of a bulge. Uh oh.

“Apologies, I – “

“No! Don’t apologize to me.” Jim sat up, ignoring the silly urge to draw the sheets over himself. “I’m sorry if I pushed this too hard. We don’t have to…”

“My hesitation does not stem from an unwillingness to participate,” Spock said in a rush. He undid his pants, revealing a lot of lean, pale, dark-haired skin that Jim felt like he couldn’t – or shouldn’t enjoy properly. “There is simply a distinct lack of prior data from which to draw experience.”

Jim couldn’t reply for a while, because first he realized Spock hadn’t been wearing _underwear_ , and then that where Spock’s dick and balls should be, there was only dark, curly hair that trailed up to his navel.

“Prior data? Um, I think being with guys is _easier_ , since, y’know, you generally know what to do down there…” he babbled as Spock draped himself across his body. Every line of their forms connected, enveloping Jim completely with heat and almost sending him into cardiac arrest as the bare skin of his penis was pressed between them. He was sweating again, despite the coolness of the room. “Except you – you don’t – ?”

“I possess similar genitalia to yours,” Spock murmured against his lips. “Mine remains internal while in its flaccid state.”

“So you – you’re not even hard.” Jim sighed, kissing Spock half-heartedly and hating himself for what he was about to say. “Let’s just slow down, okay?”

Spock made a discontented sound and pushed himself up, straddling him. It was the single hottest thing Jim had ever seen – ever _would_ see. His neglected dick dripped its disapproval as he struggled to think straight. Horny Brain was hard at work distracting him. Why had he thought stopping this was a good idea? 

“Your gender is not at issue. I have simply never experienced coitus through manual stimulation.”

He looked up from dragging his fingers through the dark hair of Spock’s thighs. “Huh?”

Spock squinted in frustration, his eyes moving over Jim’s body doubtfully. “Clarify your question.”

“ _You_ clarify.”

Jim could feel his own confusion echoed back at him. “I have only achieved climax through mental stimulation. Never physical.” Spock leaned forward, like that was enough of an answer. Jim stopped him with a hand on his chest.

“You mean Uhura never…never made you come?” Jim asked, hoping that was it. It was increasingly difficult to decipher Spock's jigsaw-speak.

Spock’s frown deepened, and Jim felt that he was getting tired of talking. “It is inappropriate to discuss – “

“It _is_ appropriate.” Jim’s voice was too loud, even to his own ears. This wasn’t at all how it was supposed to go – they were naked, together, and Jim shouldn’t feel so unbalanced at this point. This was supposed to be the _easy_ part. “Because I’m asking if you fucked her or not.”

Spock set his jaw.

“I didn’t mean – “ Jim sighed, smoothing his hand up a toned thigh. “I’m just trying to understand.”

“I have already related to you the fact that Vulcans do not engage in coitus outside of – “

“Yeah, and I heard you. But then you said your relationship with her was Human.”

He was glared at for a full five seconds before Spock pulled his hands away from Jim’s abs, curling them into fists. The faint buzzing disappeared. “To satisfy Nyota’s _Human_ libido, we achieved mutual climax through sexually stimulating melds – “

“Okay, that is _not_ ‘Human’,” Jim said, panicking a little. “’Human’ is you _fucking_ her.”

“Then I did _not_ ,” Spock said through his teeth. “If you _insist_ on using that word, then no, I did not _fuck_ her.”

Jim’s mouth fell open – Spock had just said _fuck!_ – in horror and shock.

“So you did to her what you did to me this morning,” Jim said. “Mind meld voodoo. You never….”

A sharp pang of hurt hit him through the bond, but Spock’s face remained definitively peeved. “I would not compare the two experiences. The base elements…may be similar.”

“And T’Maya?”

“Do not be ridiculous,” he snapped. “We melded as scientific colleagues.”

“Is that the same meld where she asked you to have her pointy-eared babies?”

He didn’t need the bond to know he’d gone too far with that one. Spock’s face went devoid of emotion and he pushed Jim’s hands away roughly.

“No – wait!” Jim scrambled to keep him from climbing away, wrapping an arm around his waist and rolling them so he was back on top. There was a very, very small spark of desire across the bond. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry.”

No reaction. Jim pressed an apologetic kiss to Spock’s chin, doing his best to project the feeling in any way he could.

“You’ve never had sex,” he clarified, as delicately as possible. “The Human way.”

Spock shook his head.

Jim chewed his lip. Well, Nyota had been right about one thing back on Starbase. Jim _did_ like being chased. And for good reason! He’d always looked at it like a sort of competition – two people who were already good at sex trying to one-up each other. He never wanted to be someone’s first. That came with expectations, and emotions. Good or bad, they would _always_ remember it.

Although _Starfleet Captain takes Virgin Vulcan_ definitely sounded like a video he would have watched as a sexually frustrated teenager.

“Your Terran concepts of virginity do not interest me,” Spock said, turning his face away.

“I thought you couldn’t read my thoughts,” Jim muttered, running a hand up the back of Spock’s leg and wrapping it around his waist, attempting to ground himself with the feel of warm flesh. “Why don’t you just tell me what you want?”

Spock looked at him, the bond narrowing in focus at something. “I wish for you to embrace me however you see fit. I am not a child, and you cannot break me.”

Jim’s breath caught. The low rasp of that voice inviting him to do _whatever_ he wanted almost brought him back to full hardness. Spock tightened his legs around Jim’s middle, bringing their mouths together impatiently. Jim kissed him until the last of the irritation bled away.

Blunt nails dug into his lower back. He ground his hips down with a low moan. For the first time, past the pleasant scrape of pubic hair was a warm, seeping wetness. Trying not to let fear of the unknown freak him out too much, he kissed his way over Spock’s jaw and bit gently into his neck.

Spock’s next inhale hung on a moan, the first verbal sign Jim was doing anything right. He took one of Jim’s hands – the contact of their fingers zinging up Jim’s arm – and pressed it to his groin. Hands fisted in Jim’s hair as he applied a light pressure to the mound with his palm. More of the wetness seeped out, and he was shocked to feel an emerging appendage. He circled his finger around the tip of it and Spock almost moaned again, just catching himself in time to stop it.

Jim lifted his head up, curious. Spock’s eyes were closed, his lips parted. All of his face and chest were flushed a faint green. Jim pulled his hips back, wrapping a hand around the fast-growing cock and pulling. Spock opened his eyes in alarm.

“You like that, don’t you?” Jim murmured.

Spock kissed him, making another small sound that Jim licked out of his mouth with joy as he worked his hand up and down. Without looking, he deduced that the wetness wasn’t coming from the tip of Spock’s dick, but from the space it had come from.

He traced his fingers down the hot shaft, noting the shape. It was ridged down the middle, longer and thicker than Jim’s. Of _course_ Spock had a huge dick. It wasn’t enough that he was tall, and gorgeous, and effortlessly graceful. Vulcan smugness was starting to make a lot more sense.

At the base of it were two folds of skin that moisture was all but pouring out of. Jim hoped that was a good sign. Spock’s whole body shuddered when he ran his fingertips over one of them, and he knocked Jim’s hand away, aligning himself so they slid alongside each other instead.

Jim moved his hips in a slow rhythm, giving himself time to enjoy how good it felt. How good Spock was feeling because of it.

“Can you feel me?” He whispered, pressing Spock’s hand more firmly to his scalp so he understood what he meant.

“Yes,” Spock grunted brokenly. He wiped his hand over Jim’s forehead, bringing to his attention just how much sweat was accumulating there. “Yes, James.”

“Fuck,” Jim breathed, working hand in between them to wrap around their combined girth as best he could, squeezing and pumping his hips faster. Spock gasped, his mouth falling open against Jim’s chin. Hot breath panted over his neck, making the inescapable heat that much harder to ignore.

“Is this okay?” He asked between breaths, sucking the lobe of Spock’s ear into his mouth. Spock didn’t seem too inclined to answer, but he brought his hand to the side of Jim’s face.

It wasn’t a meld, but he was doing _something_. Jim’s face buzzed and it was like turning the knob up on the bond. He felt Spock’s mounting pleasure so intensely he cried out. Spock mouthed sloppily over his throat, fingers sliding against the sweat-covered meld points. His other hand dug into the meat of Jim’s ass, the ridges of his penis hitting Jim’s dickhead _just_ right.

Spock moved his hips up in a stuttering rut, and Jim felt a flash of fear. He slowed his hand, pulling back to question it, but Spock shook his head frantically and hid his face in Jim’s neck. Two more pumps, and the bond lit up. The body underneath him spasmed upward, and Jim came. It was the most intense orgasm of his entire life, because it was his _and_ Spock’s.

With what wherewithal he still had, Jim continued to move his hand, gritting his teeth against the onslaught of sensation. His own come splashed over their stomachs, along with a predictably hot, watery substance that must have come from Spock. With every pump, Spock exhaled sharply, biting into Jim’s neck and wrapping both arms around his back. His orgasm lasted longer by almost a minute, waves of pleasure passing through the bond and throbbing in Jim’s spent dick.

When it was over and Spock started trying to pull his hand away, Jim rolled them to their sides. Every part of Spock shook with fine shivers of delight. Jim cradled his head to his chest, stroking along his side, his hip, his leg. They caught their breath for a long while.

Eventually, Jim pressed an awkward kiss to his cheek. “Hey. You okay?”

Spock’s side of the bond was shell-shocked, even then. After a pause, he pulled back just enough to rest his head on the pillow. Jim was disappointed to see that his face was composed again, even though his hair stuck up and his lips were swollen.

“James, that was…” Spock’s eyes went wide as he struggled for words. “Acute.”

“Acute,” Jim repeated. “Hm. Not my personal best, but I’ll take it.”

“I only meant – “

“I know.” Jim kissed him. Spock’s arms tightened, holding him close for a few long minutes as they moved languidly against each other. It was like someone had stuck Jim’s brain in a blender and hit _liquefy._ Every thought was syrupy and relaxed.

“You were scared for a second there,” he said, nosing into the crook of a long neck. Spock turned his head to accommodate him. “What was that?”

“I was not – “

“I felt it.”

Spock sighed and nudged Jim away. “There was simply a point at which I could no longer anticipate the reactions of my body.”

“What?” Jim pushed his fringe up. He’d never seen Spock’s forehead before – it was smooth and perfect, like all of his skin was. He kissed the flat expanse.

“Physical climax, James.”

“Yeah,” Jim laughed. “What about it?”

“You are not listening.” He was amused. Jim let his hair flop back over his eyebrows.

“I don’t know if you realize it, babe, but you’re not actually saying anything. _I_ can’t read _your_ mind, remember?”

“There are two sets of shields.”

“Okay,” Jim nodded, trying to look like he was listening while he ran a hand over Spock’s perfect ass. Spock did his version of a smile.

“One that separates my physical form from the emotions of others, and one that separates my _katra_ from my physical form. During my nightly meditations, I lower both sets and rebuild them. I have never before done so for the purposes of arousal.”

“Spock,” Jim breathed, pressing his nose against Spock’s forehead. “I’m way to blissed out to understand you right now. And it’s _hot_.”

Spock made like he was going to move away, but Jim smacked him lightly on the ass, and he stopped, eyes wide.

“You were saying?”

“The…the presence of these shields precluded me from achieving physical climax. I did not know it would be so…overwhelming.”

“You didn’t know…” Jim ran his lips along his hairline, licking the corner of his jaw. Spock shuddered, his still-hard dick pressing into Jim’s stomach. “What, you never jerked off?”

“Intercourse is not a driving factor of my society, as it is yours. Nor did my adolescence inundate me with hormones that increased my libido to such an extent that I felt the need to take my own pleasure.”

“Jesus, no wonder you’re so uptight.”

“I am not – “

“I think you cheated,” Jim said, smiling as something guilty flickered in Spock’s affronted eyes.

“I do not understand.”

“Oh, yeah? What was all this, then?” He took Spock’s hand, winding their fingers together and pressing them to his face. Brown eyes fluttered briefly.

“I was unsure I would be able to reach climax without mental…stimulation.”

It sounded like an admission. Jim wasn’t sure exactly what of. “That’s okay,” he assured. “You were trying to ground yourself in what you know. Although, if you don’t mind, maybe next time we do it my way.”

He turned his face to press his lips against the pads of Spock’s fingers. When he flicked his tongue against one, Spock made a strange sound, grinding his hips into Jim.

“James – “ he started. But Jim had peeled their bodies apart with a grimace. Things were starting to dry down there.

“Sorry,” he said offhandedly, staring at the fully erect, _green_ penis next to his soft one. It was obscene, how Jim’s semen stuck to the hair on Spock’s stomach. “It doesn’t help that I’m sweating like a whore in church.”

He expected Spock to be disgusted, as obsessed as he was with hygiene. But his pupils were big and dark as he stared down at them.

“Want me to go get a towel?” Jim asked. “Clean us up?”

“No,” Spock answered quickly. “It is…agreeable.”

Jim raised his eyebrows. “I can see that. How are you still hard?”

“I – it is not necessary for a Vulcan of any gender to sustain a period of – “

Jim was already scrambling down, pressing kisses to Spock’s hairy chest and avoiding all the drying spots of come. He could feel the same over his own stomach with every movement. Yuck. The cold air didn’t help that, but his overheated skin was glad for the break.

“You should not – “

“I want to.” Jim hauled Spock to the end of the bed, kneeling on the floor and setting a knee over his shoulder. “Do you not want me to?”

Spock leaned on his elbows, staring. “I am ambivalent on the matter.”

He wasn’t, and Jim smiled. “Ambivalent, huh?” He sank his teeth into the inside of Spock’s thigh, laving over the spot with his tongue. Spock’s shoulders straightened, and he inhaled a visibly uneven breath.

Preparing for any possible taste, Jim leaned up and took him into his mouth, going slow more for Spock’s benefit than his own. He shouldn't have worried - the taste of his own come was mingled with another, foreign flavor. If he hadn’t already had two orgasms that day, he was pretty sure he’d be hard again.

Spock’s eyes had never been so big. His lips parted as Jim swallowed him down. Emotions Jim couldn’t put a name to. He’d ask later.

Knowing exactly how good he looked doing it, he moaned around the cock in his mouth. Spock’s tongue flicked out to wet his lips, and Jim moaned again, closing his eyes so Spock couldn’t distract him from his technique.

Although maybe it was time to update. Taking Spock in hand and stroking slowly, he moved his mouth to those mysterious folds of skin. Almost like a woman’s labia. He flattened his tongue against the spot where Spock’s dick emerged, licking a long stripe up and just under it.

Narrow hips rolled up. Spock slammed his head back onto the mattress, a strangled sound escaping him. Jim repeated the motion, this time following the slit down to where it stopped, just before where a Human guy’s perineum would start.

Spock flinched away when Jim touched him there. Sensitive, then. He pressed his lips to it before moving his mouth back up, licking with every stroke of his hand. Spock was trying very hard to stay quiet, he could tell. Every panting breath caught on the edge of a moan.

He was also coming to it a lot quicker this time. Jim could feel it building in his own stomach. He moved his mouth back to the shaft, taking him all the way down all at once. Spock’s hands fisted into the sheets. Jim heard the sound of tearing fabric.

Moving up and circling his tongue around the tip, he reached out, prying Spock’s hands loose and winding their fingers together. Spock clutched them and rolled his hips again.

“J-James – “

His legs shook and the muscles in his stomach pulled tight. Without using the bond to do whatever he’d done before, he seemed even more overwhelmed. Jim braced himself, hollowing out his cheeks and pulling one hand free. He found the spot below the slit, and gently pressed into it with his thumb. Spock flinched, shouted hoarsely, and hot liquid pumped against the back of Jim’s throat.

It was easier to swallow than the Human stuff, that was for sure. Not salty, or sharp, or bitter. There was a musk to it that he couldn’t compare to anything else. But he could hardly focus on that, because his vision was turning white around the edges. His dick was still definitely limp, but if he didn’t know better he would think he was coming, too.

The orgasm swept through the both of them, surging and pulsing with every swallow. Jim pressed harder with his thumb. The bond crackled and pulled in his gut, the pleasure intensifying. Jim kept it going for almost three minutes. He simultaneously envied that and wondered if he could get it up to five next time.

Before it had fully faded, Spock yanked at his hands until they were chest to chest. He was pretty violently kissed for a while, and groped with abandon. This was absolutely the best day of his life.

When he was allowed to breathe again, he shifted away so only their legs overlapped, propping his head up. Spock was still flushed all over, breathing harder than Jim was and looking blankly up at the ceiling. Not blank like he was hiding something, but blank like he was without the ability to think at all.

“No more?” Jim asked. Spock had just pulled Jim’s hand away from his dick and pressed it to his chest. “If I could have multiple orgasms, I don’t think I’d ever stop – “

“Perhaps once you’ve recuperated.”

Jim grinned at the blown out, rasping voice. Then he sat up.

“ _Aha_!” He cried. Spock looked at his accusing finger warily. “You just used a _contraction!”_

The bond flickered with apprehension. Spock seemed to be at a loss for words for two full seconds. “A side effect of bonding with a Human, I am sure.”

“A side effect of my _mouth_.” Jim had to kiss him again. Spock returned it hesitantly, but still stopped Jim’s hand as it snaked down.

“I will take my pleasure, James, when you may once again take yours.”

Jim closed his eyes for a second, needing to remember a sentence like that for the rest of his life. His traitorous dick remained limp. “Spock, you’re the hottest thing on two legs.” He ignored the confusion that phrase produced. “Why are you calling me that?”

Spock’s cheeks colored. “I do not understand why you shorten your name. It suits you.”

“It suits me if you’re the one saying it.” That was totally a line, but Spock didn’t need to know that. “I liked that other stuff you were calling me, too. In the meld.”

“I called you many things,” Spock said evasively, the tips of his ears turning green. Jim let it go for now, looking down at his own stomach and sighing.

“I need to shower.”

“If you wish.” Spock rubbed his thumb into the hollow of Jim’s hip forlornly

Jim chuckled. “What?”

Spock glanced up at him, then back down. “I greatly enjoy the scent produced by your pheromones.”

Jim frowned. “Seriously?”

“It is the strongest here,” Spock cupped his dick and balls, applying the lightest of pressure. Jim groaned. “And here.” He slid his hand up Jim’s side, pushing his arm up and running his fingers through the hair in his armpit.

Jim stared at him for a second. “Jesus, Spock. Where did you come from?”

“A redundant question,” Spock said, eyes dark and distracted.

“I was thinking more about sneaking to the replicators for more food. Real food. You have to be hungry after that. I know I need like a gallon of water.” Spock didn’t answer right away. “Think of what you want, and I’ll go get it.”

Spock turned to lie on his back. “If you insist.”

“And then I’ll come back,” Jim continued, leaning in to lick over one faintly yellow-green nipple. Spock was _still_ hard, and wet. He had to be getting dehydrated. “Then you can get me all sweaty again.”

“Yes, James,” Spock gently pushed him away. “Go. So you may sooner return.”

“Okay.” Jim kissed him briefly before climbing out of bed – he was _not_ looking forward to returning to the twin mattresses afforded to them on the ship – and going to shower. He left the door open in the faint hope that Spock would join him.

Freezing cold water had never felt so good. He scrubbed his face and hair with shampoo from the dispenser, then washed his stomach clean with relief. However much Spock liked it, come on your pubes was _never_ enjoyable.

“How about breakfast for dinner?” He asked, pulling his undershirt on. Spock had closed his eyes, a line forming between his brows. “Hm? What do you want?”

“I am impartial,” Spock said. Jim squeezed his bare foot before stepping out, looking both directions as he went to his own room, taking the tray of uneaten food with him.

He felt incredible – like he could run five miles without stopping for a breath. He and Spock had just had _sex_. He’d taken Spock’s _virginity_ , and that was almost too much. At least it had gone well. It was a little hard to tell, now, what Spock was feeling. It was vaguely good.

He stuck his toothbrush in his pocket and walked further down the hall, to the empty observation-slash-dining room. Before thinking about food, he replicated four glasses of water and drank them down all at once. With how much he’d just sweat, he’d probably wake up with a headache. Also, now that he was thinking about it, eggs and bacon were the last things he wanted. He searched outside of his usual parameters. Salad sounded fine. Spock would like it, anyway.

Salad, _takka_ berries, an orange, and two apples. That’s it. That was the sexiest meal he could put together. He carried it back to Spock’s room, thankfully seeing no one. The door slid open when he knocked.

Spock was still laying on his back, eyes closed. Jim knew he wasn’t asleep only from the faint pulse of concentration through the bond. There was no telling what he was doing, but his dick had…disappeared. They must be taking a break. Jim left him alone for the moment, looking through the window while he took his clothes back off.

It looked like two people were playing glow-frisbee way down on the lawn. He pushed the window open a bit, hearing their distant taunts to each other as well as the waves.

In just his underwear, he signed into the provided PADD and sat on the empty side of the bed. The scores should be up by now. They hadn’t been close enough to the Terran sector to catch a live transmission in months, but Sulu was intent on keeping the pool open. He was _way_ too confident in United Australia.

He peeled the orange absentmindedly, reading the screen as the results came up and typing a gloating message to the pool chat. _Pay up, bitches._

Spock inhaled deeply, then blinked his eyes open. He sat up and crossed his legs, picking up the salad bowl. Naked. Jim remembered when he’d been lusting over the sight of his ankles.

He surreptitiously watched him eat for a few minutes, a warm feeling settling behind his ribcage. This was such a drastic change. He'd have thought they would need an...adjustment period. Or something. But here they were, and it felt completely natural.

Was this what it would be, now? Did Jim get to have this, just like that?

“Were you meditating?” He asked, taking a bite of an orange segment.

“No.” Spock took a bite, chewed, and swallowed. Even now, he refused to talk with his mouth full. “I was zeroing myself.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“Returning to baseline status. Reasserting control over my emotions.”

Jim frowned, picking off some stubborn pith. “I didn’t know you’d lost it. That was pretty tame.”

“You are wrong,” Spock said simply. Jim smiled.

“I have another question.”

“I am not surprised.” Spock stabbed more lettuce. He didn’t seem to mind tomato, Jim noticed.

“When you and Uhura – “

“Jim, I do not wish to discuss my relationship with Nyota.” The emotion that shot over the bond wasn’t irritated, but protective. He was _such_ a gentleman.

“Okay, I’ll rephrase. You said you’ve had – sorry, _achieved climax_ , through mind-stuff only. How does that work?”

“Exactly as it sounds.”

“Could you show me?”

“It is impossible for you to reach one without also reaching the other. You do not have _katra._ ”

“Does it feel the same?”

Spock cocked his head to the side. “It is difficult to explain. I require more input to reach an adequate decision.”

Jim laughed. “As long as we’re being utterly scientific about it, that shouldn’t be a problem.”

The next time he looked up from the PADD chat, Spock was gazing off into the distance, idly eating _takka_ berries one by one. His pale skin glistened faintly with Jim’s sweat. It shouldn’t have been so arousing. He shook his head when Jim held out an orange segment.

“You don’t like oranges?”

“It is doubtful.”

Jim looked at the berries suspiciously. “You’ve never tried it.”

“And I do not care to.”

“You know what I think?” Jim tried one of the berries. It was sour. “I think at some point, little Spock just decided to hate Earth food. Out of spite.”

Spock aligned the salad bowl in the center of the tray, not looking up. “What would be gained from such a decision?”

Jim just barely stopped himself from pointing out that liking Vulcan food only would make him more like his dad. “Just try it.”

Spock’s mouth tilted up. “No.”

Jim took the challenge, biting off half an orange slice and crushing it against the roof of his mouth. Swallowing the pulp, he leaned forward. Spock cast his lips an extremely wary look before meeting him halfway.

Jim pressed his juice-covered tongue against Spock’s. Almost immediately, he was pulled forward by the back of the neck as the bond flared with interest. Spock sucked on his tongue before pulling away with a wet _pop_.

“I think I’m in heaven,” Jim sighed. Spock pulled lightly at his hair.

“You said you did not believe in such concepts.”

“That was before…” Jim put his hands on Spock’s cheeks, steeling himself. He wasn't one for whispering sweet nothings. He'd never felt the need. “I never thought I could be as happy as I am right now.”

Impassive, Spock brought up one hand and placed it over Jim’s. “That is quite the admission.”

“Is it?" Jim was doing a lot of smiling tonight. "You don’t feel the same way?”

“I do, James.” Spock pushed him back, leaning over him and pressing his lips to his forehead. “I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha'ge-ashal-ha'su - very rough combination of "darling" and "celestial being"
> 
> T'nash-veh - that which is mine
> 
> Shon-ha-lock - "the engulfing". A word that translates to 'love at first sight'. 
> 
> I'm having a prolonged mental breakdown so if any part of this doesn't make any sense feel free to ask questions lmao. I could write a whole book about baby Spock ugh
> 
> Also this fic is...nowhere close to finished. Second plot line is imminent as is some good old fashioned angst. But for now, I'll let these losers have a few days of peace.


	7. Tremors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! I recently got some Vulcan tips and lessons from the master @assholepaw on twitter, so the Vulcan words in the old chapters will be corrected. T'hyla is now the correct t'hai'la, among other things. Thanks!

They took a shuttlecraft down to the equator. Eci’nev lied on the coast of one of Setlik III’s many continents. Jim had all but smushed his nose against the window to get a good look as foggy boreal forest turned to bright green water and tall, branching red-and-blue-leafed trees.

He invited Spock at some point the night before, but he’d claimed to be too behind on his work to take another day off. And while Jim was _extremely_ disinclined to do anything that didn’t involve having some part of Spock in his mouth, he hadn’t argued. Spock was still Spock. He wasn’t any more interested in hanging around a bunch of drunk humans than he had been two days ago.

So it wasn’t particularly surprising that Jim woke up alone. Even though it had been a late night, Spock had probably left before 0500 to head to the labs. That was too early for morning sex, even by Jim’s standards. He was just a _little_ eager to redeem himself – he hadn’t been able to get hard again the night before, and Spock had only let Jim give him two more orgasms before calling it a night.

They’d slept on top of the ruined sheets, Jim wrapped around Spock’s warm body. It wasn’t exactly cuddling. He was just convinced if he let go of Spock for one minute, he would be gone.

The shuttle landed in a grassy field. Jim patted Bones’ back.

“Alright, bud. You can sit up now.”

Bones peeled his forehead from the back of the seat in front of them, looking very green. “Get me off – “

“This damned thing,” Jim finished for him. “Yeah, yeah.”

The shuttle was full of Starfleet people, but only Jim’s group were from his ship. All Human, though. They seemed to be the only group of lifeforms that went wild for beaches. He pushed up a pair of replicated sunglasses as they stepped off into the hot sun. The air smelled like baking fruit and sunscreen.

He, Bones, Scotty and Sulu were all wearing the basic off-duty, sleeveless Fleet shirts with black swimming shorts. He felt very underdressed next to Nyota, who’d pulled out some sort of brightly patterned skirt and top, with a yellow cape around her head that she called a _kanga._ Jim thought it was ridiculous, at first, but now he wished he’d thought to cover his head with something.

“How far is it to the water?” Sulu asked as they started walking toward town.

Jim kicked a rock out of his sandal. “A little less than a mile.”

Bones discreetly took the bag Nyota was carrying, hefting it over his own shoulder. She smiled at him in an extremely sappy way, and Jim pretended he didn’t see any of it.

“What’s Chekov doing?” He asked. They exited the path through the trees into a little beach town square, bustling with natives and officers alike.

“I invited him, but I think he had…other plans,” Sulu raised his eyebrows suggestively.

“Like a girl, you mean?” Jim couldn’t think of any women on his crew that were young enough for _that_ to be an option. Maybe he’d met someone on the base.

Sulu shrugged. “Maybe. I keep inviting him out off-duty, but he must have a social life I know nothing about.”

“Or he just sits in his quarters and codes all day.”

“It’s definitely possible.”

They broke off to different stores; Jim and Sulu to find liquor, and the rest to browse around the trade posts. The written language wasn’t Standard, so there was some trial and error. Eventually, they found a store with heavy air conditioning. Tall shelves were lined with bottles – every kind of alcohol Jim could imagine.

“Bingo,” Sulu said, eyes wide.

“Hello,” The store attendant said after exchanging some coins with a young Human man. “How can I help you?”

She was Cygnian, with red hair piled on top of her head in a complex twist of braids and yellow gems that matched her catlike eyes.

“Maybe we should stick to Terran,” Sulu murmured, reading the label of a crystalline bottle. “I don’t wanna die out here because we accidentally drank the Klingon stuff.”

“Terran…” the woman clucked her tongue, striding around to a shelf and pointing to the top. “It’s a small selection. But potent.”

Jim looked up. “Do you have scotch?”

“Scotch? I’ve never heard of it. What is it made of?”

“It’s a malt whisky,” Sulu said. “Aged in an oak barrel.”

“Oh! I have something similar, from Risa. Humans get it all the time.”

She led Sulu away. Jim examined the Terran bottles, settling for vodka in honor of their absent Engineer. He paid for that and something suitably brown that Sulu had picked out. Walking outside, he noticed he was being watched.

“What?” He asked defensively.

“That was weird,” Sulu said. At Jim’s questioning look, he shrugged. “She was a redhead, and you didn’t even ask her name.”

He was right, Jim realized. He hadn’t asked for her name. It hadn’t even crossed his mind. Six months ago, he would have done a lot more than just that. Maybe the redhead phase was over, he thought regretfully. It had been fun, that was for sure.

The beach was beautiful. The sun turned the shallow water a bright lime, and the sand a white so bright it blinded him behind his glasses. The breeze was almost cool enough to be a relief, bringing the sound of laughter and fun. It wasn’t as crowded as the beaches at home always were, but they had to walk a while to find a decent place to set up, near the water and far enough from the families with children so that their drinking wouldn’t bother anyone.

Bones stomped a metal cylinder into the ground, and a wide black umbrella shot up, extending wide over their little patch of sand. Sulu and Scotty spread out a blanket while Jim frosted the bottles with cooler plates, settling them into the shaded sand.

They told me this was fruit juice,” Nyota said, gathering her skirt to sit next to him, brandishing a sealed pitcher of golden liquid. They mixed up drinks in a huddle while Scotty sprawled in the sun with his scotch, or whatever it was.

Jim flinched when a cold glop of sunscreen landed on his back.

“Jesus, Bones!”

“I do _not_ need you complainin’ about a sunburn all week.” He rubbed it slapdash over Jim’s back before all but smacking him in the face with another handful. “Rub that in and let it sit.”

“Get _away_ from me,” Jim protested, shoving him when he tried to start on Jim’s chest. “I’m a grown man! I’ll burn if I want to!”

Bones left him alone and started applying it to Nyota’s back for her. She’d cast aside her drapes to reveal a very much _not_ regulation bikini.

“You missed a spot, Captain.” Sulu squeezed more sunscreen directly into Jim’s hair, starting a brief battle that only ended when the tube was empty and Bones was fuming, spitting paste out into the sand.

They sat under the umbrella and let the sunscreen sink in. Jim tried to get it rubbed in as evenly as possible, a little terrified of getting an uneven tan. They moved to the water after drinking way too much. It was blessedly cold, the lack of waves making it easy to swim out as far as they wanted. There were so many people around that he didn’t worry about any unknown sea beasties.

They swam, drank more, and even joined another group of officers in a game of volleyball. Nyota ended up on Scotty’s shoulders, cajoling Sulu into climbing on Jim’s for a round of chicken. They only lost because Sulu was too scared to hit a girl. _She_ sure didn’t pull any punches.

Later, he sat under the umbrella by himself, making another drink. Nyota padded up the sand to sit and drip on the empty space next to him. Her cold hair whipped him on the shoulder as she tousled it.

“You’re welcome,” he muttered as she took the drink from his hands, starting all over with a new one. “Having fun?’

“Yes, I am.” She peered at him over the lid of her cup. “ _James._ ”

The pitcher of fruit juice slid from between his fingers. He just barely caught it in time to save anything, the rest seeping into the towel under him. That would get sticky soon.

“Something wrong?” She smiled.

“How…” Jim sighed, looking up at the umbrella for a few seconds. “How do you know he calls me that?”

“That’s what he would always call you in our melds.”

Jim blanched. When she understood why, she did the same. “Oh, not like _that_. A meld can just be a conversation, y’know.”

It was very hard to meet her eyes. “Please stop talking.”

“Jim." She poked his shoulder. “I’m so happy for you.”

“That’s pretty rich, considering you never thought to _tell_ me. You knew how he felt all this time, didn’t you?”

"Of course I did." She uncrossed her legs, leaning back on one arm. “That’s why I ended things.”

“ _What?”_ Immediately, he bit his tongue against further questions. He’d always assumed it was Spock who broke it off. 

“It got pretty obvious. To me, anyway. He just…” she mimicked a burst with her hand. “Lit up around you. I could tell he enjoyed arguing with you more than having sex with me.”

Jim felt his mouth drop open. “ _That’s_ not possible. I don’t care how Vulcan he is.”

There was no trace of bitterness in her voice, so he didn't feel too terrible about thinking that maybe she had a point. Didn’t he sometimes start a fight with Spock just because it was fun? The best part of his day, even. _Almost_ better than the days when they got along.

“Don’t worry,” she laughed under her breath. “I knew it wouldn’t last forever. Even after we – “ She stopped, and seemed to rephrase. “I’ve been trying to get him to tell you. For about a year, now.”

“A _year?”_ Jim turned toward her, limbs buzzing with alcohol. They were two face masks away from a full on sleepover. Drinking, talking about boys. God help him. “Wh – why didn’t he?”

“I brought it up a few months after we broke up. We’d just started getting back to normal – friends, y’know?" Her laugh was high and embarrassed. "He told me I was crazy. Avoided me for a few weeks.” She made a face. “I broke through. Don’t ask me _how._ One day, he just came to my quarters and told me he was going to teach me how to play lute.”

“Charming,” Jim smiled, imagining how _that_ conversation would have gone.

“I think he was lonely.” Her drink swilled around its glass as she twirled it. “We’d been practicing for an hour or so when…well, it wasn’t anything too emotional – he told me you were an ‘exceptional chess player’. That’s when I was sure.”

Jim gaped. She glanced over, seeming to realize too late what she'd said.

“Jim, you can _not_ tell him I told you that.” She covered her face with her hand. “Oh, he’ll never confide in me again.”

He really hoped he didn't forget that wonderful fact in the process of sobering up. It was too good. “Nyota, I’m a locked safe. Captain’s honor.” She burst into giggles at his salute. “So you were sure, huh? And you still didn’t tell me.”

“I didn’t know you so well! And you certainly didn’t _seem_ like the monogamous type." Her words were slurring, just a bit, around the edges. "I wasn’t even sure you liked men. It wasn’t until me and Leonard started talking – “

“What?” Jim looked over sharply. “What did _he_ tell you?”

Her small fist drove into his shoulder. “That he’d never seen you so in love.”

Jim blew a relieved breath. “And when I asked you about _thyla?”_

“Well, I knew you hadn’t heard it from _me_. I only knew it from studying the old Vulcan epics. It’s…a complicated word.” She put her head on his shoulder. “Can I say something?”

“Might as well,” he slurred back, taking a drink.

“I say this as his friend, not his ex,” she clarified, pausing for a long time. “He doesn’t… _let_ himself be happy. There’s so much he doesn’t talk about. I just hope…I hope he finds that in you.”

This felt significant, more significant than his drunk brain could handle. “I’ll do my best,” he murmured, leaning his head on hers.

They stayed there for a few more hours, until Scotty had fallen asleep directly under the sun with Nyota’s skirt wrapped around his head. Jim all but carried him on his back as they made the long, sobering walk back to the shuttle site. Nyota was still feeling it, though – she dance-slash-walked in front of their shambling line. Her retrieved skirt billowed around as she twirled.

“Dance with me, _Bones_ ,” she said, winking at Jim and trying to pull Bones forward with her.

“You’re dreamin’,” he growled, the sun and the booze making him grumpy enough to snap at even her.

“Hikaru?”

“I’ll give it a shot,” Sulu laughed, taking her hand and following her skips until they were ten paces ahead. “What are we doing, here?”

“The _chakacha._ ” She pulled her _kanga_ off. “Here, wrap this around your waist.”

Sulu did so without protest, matching Nyota’s hopping steps and swaying his hips. Jim laughed so hard it woke Scotty up. Bones fought a smile. They joined in as Uhura started singing a simple tune in Swahili. It sounded like _Joy to the World._

They walked along the forest path, singing and dancing. Scotty mumbled along, falling asleep the moment they took their seats on the craft.

__________________________

The ride back was long enough for them to almost completely sober up. Or at least to appear that way. Scotty pulled himself together enough to look stoic instead of dead. Jim was pretty sure Bones and Uhura were making out in the back, because Sulu kept making loud gagging sounds so they’d stop.

The sun had invigorated him, reminding him of long days on the farm. Jim was…buzzy. Content. That warmth faded as they landed on Starfleet grounds again. A heavier cold front had moved in since that morning, bringing dark storm clouds. Nyota held her fabric drapes close as a Northern wind blasted past.

“I’m _starving_ ,” she whined. Jim nodded his agreement, suddenly distracted at the sight of a familiar, tall Vulcan walking far ahead of them. It looked like he’d just come out of the ambassadors' building.

“Hey, look.” Sulu noticed him, too, and cupped his hands around his mouth to call out. “Commander!”

“Ach, with the screamin’,” Scotty winced, speaking for the first time in an hour.

Spock turned, pausing to wait as they caught up. Jim drank in the sight of him eagerly. It was like looking at an entirely different person than last night. He’d last seen Spock naked, relaxed, covered in Jim’s sweat. Now he was stiff-backed, impeccably clean and unwrinkled.

“It appears you had a successful trip,” he deadpanned. Scotty was the only one who groaned instead of laughed.

“Will you come eat with us?” Nyota asked as he fell into step beside her. Her sun-browned face was so pitiful peeking out from the bright fabrics.

“I must return to the laboratories at once.”

“You don’t eat enough,” Jim heard himself say.

“Your concern is noted, Captain. If unnecessary.”

Jim frowned at the ground. So it was like that. “Bones, didn’t you say you were gonna give him a checkup?”

“Yeah.” Bones shot him a look that said he knew exactly what Jim was doing, and he was going to play along. “I recall tellin’ you to come find me yesterday, Spock.”

“I recall the same." Spock's voice was smooth and cool. “I am currently recalling the Federation Regulations that deal with punishment for attempting medical duties while under the influence of – “

“Fine! Fine. Tomorrow,” Bones griped. “You look better, anyway,” he added reluctantly.

“I am improved.” Spock held the door for them. Jim winked as he walked past, getting absolutely no reaction.

“I didn’t know you were sick,” Sulu said curiously.

“I was not.” Spock nodded tersely before striding off toward the transport room. Jim watched him go.

“I’ll catch up with you guys,” he threw over his shoulder, following Spock curiously. Damn, he walked so _fast._ “Hey!”

Spock didn’t slow. If anything, he walked faster. Jim sighed and broke into a jog.

“Were you talking to Sevek?” He asked when they were side by side.

“Yes.”

“Why,” Jim huffed, “does it feel like you’re trying to get away from me right now?”

Spock came to a halt just out of the door’s automatic range. Jim stopped just after, eyebrows raised.

“I cannot entertain you at this time, Jim.”

“I just asked a question,” he said petulantly, making sure to enunciate.

Spock pulled his already-straight shirt into alignment. “To be frank, you have distracted me enough today. I will return to the ship, unless there is anything of importance you wish to discuss.”

Why the hell were they fighting? And why the hell wouldn’t Spock just _look_ at him? Jim hadn’t seen him all day. He hadn’t had a _chance_ to be annoying yet.

“Fine,” he relented. Maybe this wasn’t about him. Maybe talking to Sevek had shaken something loose, and Spock wanted to be alone. “I’m sorry.”

Spock took a step forward. The doors slid open, but he didn’t walk through. He turned to Jim uncertainly, hovering forward and falling back.

“There is no need to apologize, I – “ Their eyes met, and Spock’s nose twitched. “I will speak to you when I have finished for the day.”

Jim walked back to the dining hall, trying not to panic. Spock definitely wasn’t about to dump him, or anything. After all his griping about ‘unshakable vows’. At the _very_ least, ending things would amount to admitting he'd been wrong. Not really Spock's style.

If it was about Sevek, Spock would probably only get more upset if Jim went to talk to him, so he didn’t. It would be too weird anyway. Sevek would _know_ they’d fucked, which was awkward for a million reasons. Jim was just fine leaving that alone for at least another day.

_____________________________

He’d only laid down for a minute, but when he woke up and it was the next morning and he was _alone,_ he was angry. At himself, mainly. The drinking had taken more out of him than he realized. He found Spock in an empty Hydroponics lab after a bleary eyed transporter chief beamed him on board. The whole floor was silent save for the sounds of running water, so Spock must have heard him coming.

“What the hell?” He asked, pushing through the doors. Spock looked up from the tray of dirt he was taking notes about. He didn’t look happy to see Jim. He didn’t look anything.

“What the hell?” Jim asked again, changing his tone. Spock raised an eyebrow. “I waited for you last night.”

“I knew you to be asleep. I did not wish to disturb you.”

“How did you know?”

Spock very deliberately tapped a finger to his temple.

“Okay. Fair. But – “ The anger had gone. Jim felt kind of dumb. “I was just looking forward to it, is all.”

“Very well,” Spock said, eyes empty. “I will be available tonight.” He turned back to the dirt.

“I’ve never seen you write in lead before. Except for the crossword."

Spock's shoulders lifted as he breathed deeply. “It requires a greater amount of focus to record this way.”

“I’ll bet.” Jim stared at his back. He didn’t expect their day to day to change too much, but Spock was really giving him absolutely nothing to work with. Even before, this would have been an unusually chilly reception.

“May I assist you in something, Captain?”

Jim stopped tapping his fingers. “I hate it when you call me that.”

“I know.”

Jim’s mouth fell open. The lead stylus scratched in the sudden silence. Spock was tense, withdrawn. Even more so than yesterday. “How did your checkup go?” He asked, wondering if _that_ was it.

“I am in perfect health.” The scratching stopped, and Spock gave him a searching look over his shoulder. “You should inquire after your own.”

“ _My_ health? Why?”

“Doctor McCoy is expecting you.”

“Great,” Jim sighed. He may as well get that over with. “Thanks for that. So...I’ll see you tonight?”

Spock moved farther along the tray. “I will make certain of it.”

“Good.” Jim moved up behind him, poking a finger into the small of his back. “Can I kiss you?”

Spock flinched away, spinning with the clipboard held to his chest like a shield.

“Have you taken leave of your senses?” His eyes were wide and affronted.

“Honestly? Maybe.” Jim peered down at the board, eyes moving over the scribbles. Vulcan. “Aw, is this your diary? Am I in it?”

Spock jerked it back and slammed it onto a table. He looked so angry that Jim stopped his teasing.

“What? What’s wrong with you?”

He raised a scathing eyebrow. “You are acting inappropriately. How do you wish me to react?”

“Spock,” Jim said gently. “We’re on _shore_ leave. And there’s no one else on this deck!”

“Even so,” Spock said, glancing nervously at the door. Jim saw a conflict in his eyes.

He held his hand out at waist-level, index and middle finger extended. Jim stared for a second before realizing he was meant to respond. Barely-there tingles radiated from where their fingers touched.

“You are still my _t’hai'la_.” Spock's eyes were kind. “But I must work.”

“I know that,” Jim breathed. “It’s just…”

It was a lot harder to say this stuff now that they both had their clothes on. He shouldn’t have come up here at all, expecting something he clearly wasn’t going to get.

But Spock slid his fingers down the length of Jim’s in a weird, slow, fucking _sensual_ way that made him feel like it might be okay. “Speak, _t’nash-veh_.”

 _T’nash-veh_. Whatever it meant, Spock’s ears turned green just saying it. Jim looked down at their hands.

“If you ever think you’d be disturbing me by waking me up, I promise you’re wrong. I always want to see you.”

Quickly, he looked up. Spock’s eyes were dark.

“I used to just wait for you to ask _me_ to...hang out, because I just assumed you had better things to do.”

“I understand,” Spock intoned. “I will not hesitate to wake you in the future.”

“Promise?”

Spock looked at the door again, like he was terrified someone would burst through it and spray them down with a hose just for _daring_ to touch fingers. Jim took mercy and pulled his hand away, walking backward.

“I’m _leaving_ , Spock,” he taunted. “You better do it.”

“I…promise,” Spock said, almost under his breath.

“Good.” Jim grinned. “And _I_ promise not to tell anyone you like oranges.”

Spock sighed and turned away as the doors slid shut. With that particular weight off his chest, he wandered down to Medical. That level was a lot…livelier. Voices floated down the hall from Engineering. Lots of voices. Those guys really didn’t know how to take a break.

“Hey, Christine,” he said, walking into Sick Bay. “What are you doing up here?”

“Just organizing some files.” She brushed a wisp of blonde hair behind her ear, looking up from the rolling terminal. “You’re sunburned!”

“A little." He touched his nose. "It’s fine. You should have come with us yesterday.”

Her sigh was wistful. “Yes, well, as long as Engineering is working, one of us has to be.”

“Well, I can always order – “

“Jim!” Bones' yell cut across their conversation like a knife. Christine held back a smile as Jim took the gallows-walk to the open door.

“Bonesy?”

“Get in here,” he snapped. Jim complied. “And shut the door.”

He was half-sitting on his desk, facing the wall view screen. Jim stayed far back in case this was a sneak attack – his hands _looked_ empty, but that was exactly what he’d want Jim to think, wasn’t it?

“Do you know what this is?” He pointed to the screen. Jim looked at the identical two images projected beside each other.

“A...brain scan.”

“Good. _That_ ,” he pointed to the image on the left, “is Spock’s brain just after that mission on Emila, when he got hit by the falling rock and I thought he might be concussed.”

Jim grimaced at the memory. Spock had insisted he was fine the entire way back to the beam up point, despite the buckets of green blood gushing from his temple.

“And this,” Bones gestured to the right image. “Is the scan I took last night. See any difference?”

Mesmerized, Jim stepped forward. Medical was definitely not his area of expertise, but he might have been able to guess on his own that these scans weren’t Human. There was too much going on. “You’re not allowed to show me these."

“Actually, Jim, I am.” Bones turned the clicker over in his hands. “If you’re his…partner…you’ll have full clearance to his medical files.”

“What?” His confusion was stronger than his shock that Spock had told. “Why would you give me clearance?”

It wasn’t like they were married. Unless… “Oh, my God. Is there something wrong with his brain?”

“Well, he doesn’t think so.” Jim felt his eyes go wide, and Bones stood up, drawing a laser circle around the same general area on both scans. “No one told me that this bonding junk created an entirely _new_ system of synapses.”

He could see it now. A cluster of branching pathways that only existed in one image. _The bond has altered your neural pathways,_ Spock said. He hadn’t mentioned his own.

Bones clicked, and the left image changed. _This_ scan was significantly less crowded.

“This is you six months ago. See where this is going?”

Jim was already backing away. “No.”

“I have to inject the… _dye.”_ Bones lunged with the hypo he’d pulled out of _nowhere_. Jim parried, his back hitting the wall. “Jim, I swear – “

“No!”

“If you comply," he sighed, casting his eyes up. "I will make it worth your while.”

Jim wiggled his empty ring finger, smirking. “Too late, Bones. I’m bonded. It’s pretty exclusive.”

“Listen.” Bones kept the needle pointed at Jim, but put his other hand in his pocket. “I’m not the one giving you access to his medical files. Starfleet is.”

“You _told Starfleet?!_ What the hell happened to ship solidar – _”_

“Shut! Up!” Bones yelled over him. “I haven’t yet, but I’ll have to. It’s mandatory.”

“Why?!”

Bones’ mouth went tight. He glared until Jim relaxed back against the wall, zipping his lips and throwing away the key.

“A few months after the planet imploded,” he started, “two Vulcans applied to Starfleet. Suddenly, the High Council decided they wanted to give up some of their damned stupid secrets. Three people were cleared. Me, the Head Doctor of Grounds at the Academy, and one other. We were given very…privileged information.”

The Vulcans _gave up_ information? To doctors, no less?

“That’s how you know about bonding.”

“Yes, though that turned out to be a half truth,” Bones muttered, gesturing to the scans. “There’s more.”

“Like what?” Jim asked, so curious it hurt.

Bones waved the hypo. He had him, and he knew it. Jim nodded.

“ _Gah_ ,” he flinched as the needle was slammed mercilessly into his neck. Totally harder than necessary.

“Let that sit for a few.” Bones went back to his perch on the desk and flipped open his comm. “Chapel, prepare full brain scan for James T. Kirk.”

“Yes, Doctor,” came Christine’s tinny voice. Jim rubbed his neck.

“Why does Starfleet have to know?”

Bones cleared his throat, looking at the scans without really looking. “There is one thing. It’s more closely guarded than anything else – they _barely_ told me about it. I know it exists, and that it’s important to Vulcan…health. That’s about it.”

Jim gaped. “Important enough to make you _blush?”_

Bones laughed uncomfortably. “You should have seen Spock when I asked about it.”

“What is it? It has to do with me?”

“Yes…and no.” He was still very much not looking Jim’s direction.

“Well?”

“Aw, I’m not tellin’. Best ask him yourself.”

Jim straightened up, raising his eyebrows to their full height. “You said you’d tell me!”

The comm beeped. “Standing by for brain scan, Doctor.”

“Bones,” Jim warned as he stood up. Bones threw an arm over his shoulder and led them out of the room.

“Jim, I’m your Doctor. How would you ever trust me if I didn’t lie to you every now and then?”

Played like a fool, Jim let Christine position him in a closed off white room. A closet, really. Bones had him turn right, and the whole room filled with a bright flash of white light. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear the spots.

“Guess I should’a told you to shut your eyes,” Bones said through the intercom. Jim held up a middle finger. “Face right.”

Another flash of light that he shut his eyes against, and Christine opened the door, beckoning him out. Bones displayed the new scan next to the old one in his office.

“What’s up, Doc?” Jim asked, sucking as loudly as possible on the sucker Christine had given him. “Do I have Spock-brain?”

Bones looked grim as he drew circles around the differences, only these were on a different part of the brain than Spock’s had been. The change looked smaller, too. Less branching.

“That crazy fucker increased the mass of your thalamus by about fifteen percent.”

“You make it sound like a bad thing.”

The screen turned off. Bones rubbed his eyes. “In any other context, I’d be shipping you to a Starbase right now. The thalamus is what connects your brain to your body. This means…hell, I don’t know what.”

Jim sucked, the sugary green-apple flavor sticking to his teeth. “I think I know.”

“What?” Bones looked around eagerly.

“It means I’m a genius. My brain will keep growing until I can – “ He squinted, pressing his fingers to his temple. “Make your heart stop beating with my thoughts.”

“Dammit, Jim!” Bones exploded. “Take this seriously!”

“I am!” Jim matched his volume. “The fundamental difference between us, Bones, is that I _trust_ Spock. If a bond could hurt me, he wouldn’t have done it."

Bones didn’t look convinced. “I want weekly scans. Just for the meantime.”

“Oh, come on.”

“I don’t wanna hear it.”

Jim sat forward, sucker stick hanging out of his mouth. “I will fight you on this. Every step of the way…Unless you tell me what the thing is.”

“The thing.” Bones sighed, then perked up a bit. “Y’know what? Just because he called me a fraud earlier, I’ll give you a hint: It’s called _pon farr_.”

“That’s it?” Jim asked drily. “The hint is its _name_?”

Bones shrugged. Jim rolled his eyes and stood up. “Fine. Thank you, as always, Doctor, for an incredibly traumatic visit to Sick Bay. I’m sure this won’t in any way effect my willingness to return.”

He turned at the door. “What was the doctor’s name? The other one they told?”

“We don’t know him,” Bones said absentmindedly. “He did an internship on Vulcan, so I guess they thought he knew enough already. Something…M’Benga.”

______________________________

Jim jumped when there was a knock on his door. He glanced at the time. It was early – only 1500. He walked over to the door instead of calling it open, wondering who it could be.

“Good afternoon,” Spock said. Jim smiled his surprise, stepping back.

“What’s all this?” When the door was shut, he reached out to feel the thick, almost woolen fabric of Spock’s overlarge sweater. It was cozy and somewhat formal all at once – the mock neck collar had a complex sort of stitching.

“There are several Terran restaurants in the nearest municipalities. I was merely preparing for the expected weather.”

“You’re going out?” Jim asked. Spock let out a ' _y_ _ou’re an idiot'_ sigh and stepped forward, grasping his forearms.

“I plan to do so in the company of my bondmate.”

“Oh,” Jim breathed. “That would be me.”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “Have you sustained a head injury since we last spoke?”

Jim slid one hand out of Spock’s grip and pressed their fingers together at the exact moment Spock leaned down to kiss him on the lips. All sorts of new, warm feelings burrowed out a space in his chest.

“Bones seems to think so,” he said, looking at their hands. “He thinks you’re scrambling my brain.”

“I believe it to be the opposite.”

“Opposite?” Where had Spock even gotten that sweater, anyway? Jim didn’t have anything like it. “I’m scrambling _your_ brain?”

“You have much to gain from this union. Exposure to a well ordered mind may influence you toward rationality.”

Jim chuckled, shoving aside his discomfort with the word _union_. “And what do _you_ have to gain?”

“I will think on it.”

“That’s just rude.” He gestured to the desk. “I was just working on Chekov’s promotion stuff. Wanna take a look?”

Spock nodded and Jim turned to the closet. They’d only provided a range of Starfleet things in his size. Personal clothing had been left in storage back in San Francisco. He missed leather. The best he could do was an insulating black shirt, but as Spock was more prone to cold than he was, it would probably be enough.

“Beyond the usual typographical errors, everything seems to be in order," Spock said from the desk.

Jim slid his communicator into his pocket, leaning against the wall. “Thanks. Are you sure you want to go out?”

Spock looked up with a frown. “You would prefer something else?”

That had to be a set up. Jim avoided it, trying not to be too predictable. “No. It’s just not your style.”

“Was I wrong in understanding you require assurance as to the nature of our relationship?”

“Assurance?” Jim laughed. “You don’t need to wine and dine me, if that’s what you mean.”

“I do not understand.”

“I thought…you kind of snapped at me, yesterday. I kind of wondered if you…regretted anything.”

Spock stared at him, calculating. Then he stood and was on Jim so fast his brain short-circuited. His back hit the wall, and Spock was kissing him. It was…good. Of course. And hot. And all the things kissing Spock was. But when he pushed his hands under Jim’s shirt, Jim stopped him.

“Wait.”

Spock pulled back an inch, questioning.

“I…I liked your idea. Let’s go out.”

“I plan to.” Spock kissed him again, less intensely. Unhurried. “And when we return…”

Jim’s legs turned to water when Spock squeezed his ass, and all thoughts of leaving melted away. He threw his arms around wide shoulders, groaning as a hot tongue licked against his.

“Forget it,” he gasped, breaking away to get a breathe of air. “Let’s stay.”

Spock disentangled himself, looking way too calm. “You are unusually illogical today.”

“Shut up.” Jim tried to will his semi away, which was very hard with Spock looking at him. “You knew what you were getting into.”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “Shall we go?”

He listed off a few places, when Jim was collected enough to leave the room. They were all Terran, with food that Jim liked. Which made him suspect that the list had been narrowed down from something longer, based on what Spock thought he would want.

It was just them and another couple on the shuttlecraft. Not that he and Spock looked like a couple, in Jim’s opinion. He was sitting too formally, too far away from Jim on the bench seat for it to look at all like they were lovers. Or even good friends.

Jim kept glancing up at him as they walked through the small town. They were just a few miles inland from the base, in a very touristy shopping district. Jim looked in every window. There were clothes, furniture, trinkets.He half wished they’d gone out after dark. Then maybe Spock wouldn’t be walking almost a foot away. 

Spock didn’t seem interested in anything. He led them straight to the restaurant, a red-brick, very old fashioned edifice. Jim did the talking, getting them a table on an upper balcony. The breeze was cool. Jim sat in a spindly tall chair and put an elbow on the wooden rail, watching the meandering pedestrians two floors below. Swaying blue treetops lined the horizon.

“The plants here remind me of Earth.”

“Indeed. They are very similar in appearance.”

Jim turned forward, thanking the Human waitress for bringing their waters. She was young, maybe fifteen. They wouldn’t have let her work at this age back on Earth. They were handed two menus and she ran off to bring bread for the table.

“It is the vegetation of this planet’s desert region I am most interested in.”

“That makes sense.” Since New Vulcan was _only_ desert. “Maybe we could go out there tomorrow.”

Spock touched his glass like he was about to take a drink, then drew his hand back. “The offer is appreciated. Unfortunately, I will not be available. I have been invited to attend a survey with the Vulcan embassy.”

He looked pointedly away from Jim’s grin, crossing his legs and folding his hands on the tabletop.

“You talked to Sevek.”

“We discussed my work with New Vulcan soil. He displayed a great amount of interest.”

“That’s _it_? You didn’t tell him what happened?”

“I hardly think it necessary.” Spock stared harder at the tabletop. “It is likely we will discuss many things in the future.”

Jim wondered if _pon farr_ had anything to do with that. Something medical that the Vulcans kept more secret than anything else. He hadn’t bothered searching the databases for it. If only three non-Vulcans were allowed to know – one of them being Spock’s physician – then he highly doubted he'd find anything.

The waitress returned for their orders. Jim chose a grilled chicken sandwich, and Spock a soup and salad. The bread was warm and _real_. He savored every bite.

“Tell me more about the plants,” he said. Spock examined him like he thought he might be poking fun. “I’m serious. What makes them different from Earth?”

Could he actually follow what Spock was saying? No. Did he _really_ care? Meh. Spock had a nice voice. Even though he was talking about chlorophylls and ATP, Jim was fascinated. He pictured a baby Spock looking over his mother’s shoulder as she worked with plants, unable to share in enjoying their taste but needing desperately to connect _somehow_ , and what was more Vulcan than science?

Jim had never thought of floppy dark hair and big sweaters as especially _sexy_ , but Spock was really pulling it off. He just barely caught the end of a sentence about wood consistency.

“All the trees here are soft wood?” He looked at the balcony beam. “This must be imported.”

Spock smiled with his eyes, like he was proud of Jim for trying. “An astute observation.”

“A side effect of a Vulcan bondmate, I’m sure.”

Green bloomed high across Spock’s cheeks

“See anything you wanna stop for?” Jim asked later, as they meandered their way through the town.

“I do not.”

Jim saw a storefront with instruments, his interest piqued a little. “What about that one?”

Spock followed his nod. “I am at your disposal.”

He really shouldn’t be saying things like that when they were in public, Jim thought. They crossed the street.

The small room was stuffed with instruments. Lots of brass, tuba-y things. Some wind, some string. A large Bolian man sat half-hidden behind the counter, buried deeply in a book and barely paying them any mind. There was idle classical music playing over a hidden speaker.

“Which one of these is a lute?” Jim asked, looking at the harp-like things. Spock pointed to a particularly fragile, dark-wood sculpted piece.

“This is of Vulcan make. It is…rare…to find one in such a place as this.”

He had a fixated look in his eye that made Jim smile. “Why don’t you buy it?”

“I already possess a lute.”

“You do? I thought it was Nyota’s.”

Spock tugged at his sweater. “She is learning the art. It is only appropriate to allow her to keep it in the meantime.”

“What’s it worth?”

“It…” Spock looked back to the rack. “It is of high quality, of course…Jim – “

“Wait for me outside,” Jim said, picking up the lute as carefully as he could. It didn't feel fragile at all. Spock opened his mouth. “Stand near the window and look sad.”

“I do not see how – “

Jim shushed him, looking at the door meaningfully. After a moment's hesitation, Spock turned on his heel and exited the shop.

“Good sir!” Jim called, moving around the labyrinth toward the counter. “I will take this lute.”

The Bolian sat up, squinting. “The Vulcan one?”

“Yep.”

His eyes went to the Starfleet insignia on Jim’s sweater. “Three thousand bits.”

Jim chuckled, leaning in. “Alright, slow down. I didn’t catch your name.”

“Halfax,” the man said bluntly.

“Well, Hal – can I call you Hal? – there is just no _way_ I’m paying that much. How good can this be? It looks exactly like a Terran lute.”

“Vulcan craftmanship is far better. The wood will never warp, the strings are pure polymer, and it’s perfectly tuned – “

“I’m not arguing that.” Jim plucked a string regretfully. “I just spent a few years on Vulcan, is all. These things sold for really cheap there.”

Hal raised an eyebrow. “Vulcan is no more. The value has…appreciated.”

Jim straightened up, letting a shocked look pass over his face. “That’s a terrible thing to say. Do you have _any_ sympathy? I’ll give you…five hundred.”

“Three thousand.” Hal crossed his arms, unimpressed. “Vulcans don’t have feelings. Why should I?”

“Does _that_ ,” Jim pointed to the window. “Look like someone who doesn’t have feelings?”

They both turned. Spock had his back to the window, hands in his pockets. Jim rolled his eyes.

“Alright,” he sighed, dropping the charade. “Fine. Fifteen hundred.”

“Twenty five.”

“Sixteen hundred.”

“Twenty five,” Hal repeated. “No lower.”

Jim leaned closer, sucking his teeth. “Vulcans are finicky, pretentious bastards and their instruments are just as difficult to work with. Anyone who comes through here would rather have a Terran one, because they’re cheaper, easier to learn, and the strings won’t shred their skin. Your only shot at selling this is gonna be to a Vulcan. How many of those have you seen here lately?”

He held up his bleeding fingertip. Hal glanced at the instrument, the first shadow of doubt marking his brow.

“And by the time they _are_ out shopping, instead of working on rebuilding the colony, you can bet they’ll have had time to get a lute from their _own_ lute….maker. They won’t need to buy one secondhand.”

There was a pregnant pause. Hal looked at Spock, through the window. “Fine. I can let it go for two thousand.”

Jim grimaced. “Maybe it would be more _logical_ to wait…diminishing returns, y’know?”

“One eighty,” Hal said through his teeth. “That’s final.”

“Deal!”

Jim shook his hand and commed the ship for a credit transfer. Hal wrote up a receipt for him to sign, and Jim walked out with the lute. Spock frowned at it.

“What do you think?” Jim asked. “Is eighteen hundred a good deal or should I have gone lower?”

Spock stared at him.

“I could have got him to five hundred if you would have just done like I said. You want to mope all the time _except_ when I might save some money.”

Gingerly, Spock reached out and took it, turning it in the sun. Without a word, he started walking.

“Spock?”

“No Vulcan would appraise this for less than seven thousand Federation credits.”

Jim whistled lowly. “And I thought three was steep.”

“Why did you purchase it?” He asked. Jim wanted to roll his eyes.

“I wanna learn how to play. Maybe Nyota could teach me.”

Spock looked over at him, adorably confused. “She has only mastered the basics herself.”

Jim shrugged. “I guess you’ll do, then.” Spock raised an eyebrow. “I’ll let you keep it in your quarters for now. Maybe you can break it in for me. It cut the _shit_ out of my finger.” He held it up so Spock could see.

“Learning to play this instrument requires patience, Jim. Nyota took great pains in developing callouses so she would not bleed.”

Jim sucked his finger. “Vulcans don’t do things halfway, huh? Well, I’ve got time.”

“Time, yes. Patience – “

“So,” Jim interrupted, not at all eager for another lecture on his faults. “Is this what it’s like? Dating a Vulcan?”

Spock raised his other eyebrow. “I admit to a certain ignorance on the subject.”

“Well, you don’t have movies. You don’t eat for fun. You don’t _shop_. How do you…spend time with each other?” He gestured to the air. “Like right now. You’d never do this on your planet.”

“Correct on all fronts.” A little line of thought formed between his eyes. “Mutual pursuit of the arts is an acceptable pastime.”

“So, studying. But in the same room.”

“You may see it as such.” Spock drew closer as they passed a group of girls walking the other way. He held the lute just slightly in toward Jim, protecting it. “To be in the company of ones bondmate, working on separate pursuits, is as much an indulgence as anything.”

“Hmm. So you did all of this just for my benefit.”

“Not necessarily. I sensed…” He trailed off, shaking his head the slightest amount. “Forgive me. We should discuss this in private.”

“Okay.” Jim turned back to his other questions. “You don’t do birthdays, I know that. Anniversaries?”

“None.”

“Then what are the weddings like?”

Spock’s next step halted the slightest amount. It was so irregular Jim almost thought he was about to trip, but he didn’t. “Very different.”

Jim waited, but there was no explanation.

____________________

They beamed up to the ship so Spock could put the lute in his quarters. Jim walked in behind him, looking around with a renewed gaze. Before, this had always been a place where they did things like chess or tea or had quiet, work-related conversation that Jim could only steer into personal territory by sheer will.

“Do you think it’ll be a lot different, now?” he asked. Spock settled the lute on the top of his desk overhang, long arms reaching it with ease. “Working together?”

“I do not,” came the quiet reply. Spock stood with his back to Jim for a few seconds, then turned toward him. “For the entirety of our acquaintanceship, you have distracted me. I will continue to manage this discretion as I always have.”

“ _I_ distract _you?_ ”

Spock nodded. “Yes. For approximately two months past our meeting, I decided you must be doing so purposefully.”

“Doing what?”

“It seemed every action, every word spoken was calculated to unnerve me. You were outwardly amiable, though I suspected lingering feelings of resentment caused you to…act out.”

“I definitely messed with you,” Jim said, remembering how he’d started losing chess on purpose to see how long it took for Spock to realize. “But I do that with people I like.”

“I am referring more to innate traits of character.”

“…Oh.” Jim rocked back on his heels. “Ouch.”

“After becoming more familiar with your mannerisms, I realized it was not an act.” Spock closed the distance between them, wrapping his arms around Jim and pulling their chests together. Jim’s pulse sped. “My own consternation troubled me. I reasoned that you were a complicated individual. It was only sensical that you would arouse complicated feelings in others.”

Jim pressed his nose into the skin under Spock’s ear. He smelled so good.

“Despite knowing we were _t’hai'la_ , I did not find our personalities well suited to any extent.”

“What convinced you?”

Spock’s hands moved up his back slowly. “In what regard?”

Jim pulled back, which put their faces very close. It was nothing at all to kiss him, to brush his mouth over soft, warm lips.

“Any.”

Spock opened his eyes slowly, like he’d lost his train of thought. “You…you are physical by nature. Open with your affections.”

“I guess, yeah.”

“Never with me, though you claimed me as a friend.”

Jim pulled back further, Spock’s arms allowing him a few inches. “You’re Vulcan! I thought you didn’t _like_ being touched.”

“I do not.” Spock turned his head to the side. “Though I found a distinct displeasure at your touching others.”

Jim laughed, which made him frown. “You were _jealous_.”

“Of course not. I only wished to understand. It is not as though you treated any other Vulcan custom with such respect.”

Jim squeezed his shoulders, sighing wistfully. “And if I _had_ been touching you all the time?”

Spock’s ears colored. _God_ , that was adorable.

“I wish to meld,” he said very quietly. Jim nodded.

“If you promise not to brain-fuck me.”

Spock’s cheeks joined his ears as he stepped back. “You are undressing.”

Jim paused in pulling his shirt over his head. “Oh. Um, my bad. I just get really overheated when we do this, so…”

He felt his eyes go wide as Spock started doing the same. They fell into each other’s arms when they were both naked, and then they fell onto the bed. Jim was too caught up in the feel of skin on burning skin to remember that they were supposed to be melding. Spock had to break the kiss two times before Jim stopped chasing his mouth.

“James,” he said patiently. There was a tautness to his voice, though, that made Jim think he might actually _need_ this. He positioned one hand on the side of his face, shifting a leg between his thighs. Jim stretched one arm out under the pillow with a sigh, settling into Spock’s embrace and nodding.

Spock said some Vulcan words. _My mind to your mind_ , Jim would guess. And then his vision went dark.

The meld was like the first – pulsing whiteness and the sensation of floating. He felt Spock’s relief, the slackening of some tight cord. After a while of…nuzzling? He didn’t know what else to call it. It was comfortable. After a bit of that, the whiteness receded, pulling away with an uncomfortable friction that left Jim feeling unmoored. He tried to chase it, but couldn’t.

 _Project your thoughts,_ Spock instructed. _I have ceded control so as not to take advantage._

 _Okay_ , Jim thought back. There was no reason for him to know how to do it, but he did. It was nice to be able to actually speak. _What does that mean?_

_You allowed me to show you things, before._

_Yeah, I remember._ Jim tried to feel out the parts of this that were himself. The last time there hadn’t been a sense of _here_ or _there_. Spock was _there_ , now. Jim didn’t honestly like it that much over here by himself. _Are you saying you want to ask questions, this time?_

There was no answer, but something touched him. Well, not _him,_ but his mind. A gentle stroke. _Ask away,_ he projected, already trying to figure out how to touch Spock back.

_I would like to know of your previous romantic partners._

Jim stopped his attempts to move, mentally balking. _What,_ all _of them?_

 _A complete data set would be preferable...though,_ ashayam _, I will only take what you give._

He knew Spock was being honest about that, but he could also feel a…determination. Not curiosity, which would make more sense.

_It could take a while._

Warm ripples of not-laughter. _Only the speed of a thought._

Jim gathered himself for a second. No point in separating the romantic from the sexual – they were pretty much one for one.

His first real girlfriend had been Annette Marsh. Jim had lost his virginity to her on prom night. He sort of pushed his memory of that to Spock, making sure to note how awkward and horrible it had been. He was sure he wasn't providing the kind of detail Spock had, in his memories. Next was Frida Marsh, Annette’s sister.

 _Our town was small, okay?_ He thought defensively, even though Spock hadn’t said anything.

Senior year had been his and Jared Erston’s frantic fucks in the rugby locker room. Spock was politely interested at that, but Jim moved on.

He went faster through his very early twenties. That was mostly bar crawling, because he’d been so _bored_. Nothing interesting happened in Iowa. After that was the Academy. Jim had done okay there, but, for the first time in their melds, there was something he didn’t really want to share.

 _So I actually dated Antoni for a while,_ he said hesitantly, pushing a memory of them making out in the library. Spock’s only reaction was a faint disapproval. Probably at their desecration of so sacred a place.

Jim could have laughed, but he’d started to feel a little sick. _It didn’t end well, and after that I swore off men for a while. Let’s see…Naomi, Mo Chou, Gaila,_ Rhyan. _Yikes, I never did call her back…_

 _Fascinating,_ Spock thought. _That there were so many you could not name._

There was no disapproval there. Just a genuine lack of understanding.

 _Yeah_ , Jim answered, uncomfortable. _I’ve kind of been a huge dick for most of my life. There’s…just one person I left out._

 _You do not need to share it,_ came the quick response.

 _No, I’m gonna tell you._ Jim didn’t want to keep anything from him. Plus, if he thought of it as a secret, it would start to fester. _I just don’t think you’ll like it._

_Jealousy is illogical. You need not fear it from me._

Jim sincerely doubted that. _You know I love you, right?_

 _Yes_ , Spock answered after a second. His intent listening wavered in delight. _As I love you,_ t’nash-veh.

Jim thought very carefully about how he should phrase this, because he certainly wasn’t going to _show_ Spock. _So, it was our first semester. Honestly, I wouldn’t call this romantic_ or _sexual –_

 _James,_ he was being considerate, which was almost worse. _Do not tell me._

 _Bones,_ Jim blurted. _It was Bones._

Spock went silent. His emotions grew too muted for Jim to read.

 _It was just a kiss – well, a lot of kissing – but that was it! He was down in the dumps after his divorce, and I don’t think he’d had sex in like two_ years _, and we were both drunk and – and crying –_ He regretted saying _that_ part immediately. Bones wouldn’t forgive that admission, if he ever found out. _He turned me down, and we never talked about it again. It was a stupid, drunk thing._

 _You made sexual advances toward him?_ Spock asked. Jim searched his thought for any intonation whatsoever. Nothing.

 _I…offered,_ Jim admitted, growing panicked.

_…Fascinating._

_Are you mad?_

Slowly, Spock opened up. But he was cheating, Jim thought. He’d had time to create a simple, placid calm.

_As I said, jealousy is illogical. The query was posed only to identify a pattern in those who you desire. I cannot find one._

_You wanted to know my_ type?

He noticed for the first time that there was a dark spot among the whiteness. He tried to move toward it – and actually did move his time – but something stopped him. He was being held back.

_What is that?_

_Everything you see is mine. I believe you were allowing me to ‘ask questions’._

Jim dropped it, and for the next little while he let Spock interrogate him about seemingly random aspects of his life. A lot of it centered around his time in Iowa. Moving out of his mom’s, living alone and hating it. Reading about Starfleet but never applying.

It was starting to bum him out, and Spock’s questions seemed endless. _Can I show you the beach?_ He asked, halfway through a memory about a barfight.

Spock didn’t understand what he meant, at first. But Jim pushed the memory of their trip from the day before, and he all but lit up with eagerness to see. Jim didn’t make fun of him for it.

He showed Spock how beautiful the water had been, how much fun they’d had. He left out the conversation with Nyota, but added their walk back to the shuttle, dancing and singing. And, feeling almost shy, he threw in how much he had wished Spock was there.

As soon as he was done with that memory, the meld ended.

Jim blinked his eyes open, jarred. Spock rubbed a thumb over his cheek, watching contently as he re-oriented himself.

“Thank you,” he said. “For allowing me to have your mind.”

It wasn’t like the other meld. Coming out of it, Jim couldn’t feel Spock anymore. “You have your shields up,” he accused. Spock nodded. “Why? You’re mad, aren’t you?”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “For what reason do you imagine I would be?”

Jim narrowed his eyes. He didn’t want to bring the Bones thing up again. Not in the real world. But there was no _way_ Spock was okay with it. "You know he's with Uhura now, right?"

Spock nodded, eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly. 

As an afterthought, Jim reached for his dick. He was hard, but he hadn’t orgasmed. Relieved, he sighed.

“Is something wrong?”

“Not at all.”

Spock seemed to know exactly what it was. His mouth twitched, and then he leaned forward to press it against Jim’s, gently rolling on top of him. He was a pretty pointy guy, but somehow, when they were together like this, he became soft and welcoming. Jim sank his hands into the flesh of his ass, trying to quicken the pace of the kiss.

“James,” Spock murmured, brushing his lips over Jim’s cheek. “Will you be still?”

Jim let his hips fall to the mattress where they’d been arching toward him. “Why?”

Spock sat up slowly. Jim followed.

“What’s up?” He tried not to look at Spock’s crotch. He didn’t want to…pressure him - at all - but it was really freaky to look down and see _nothing._

Spock watched him with a dark, even gaze. His hands left his shoulders to move very slowly up his neck, curving around his jaw and pushing his hair back. Jim smiled nervously after about minute two of hands in his hair.

“Are you checking me for lice?”

Spock shook his head, eyes following one hand as fingers slid down the backs of Jim’s ears. Jim shifted, feeling oddly like he would start blushing soon. To cover that, he tried to lean forward and get things back on track. Spock leaned away, pressing back onto Jim’s thighs.

“Spock,” he whined. “What are you – _mmph.”_

A hand had pressed over his mouth. “Be quiet.”

Blinking, Jim let the hand push his head down to the pillow. Spock was smiling (almost), but there was an intensity in his stare that made Jim not want to question it.

At Jim’s nod, Spock pulled his hand away, returning to his ears. After that, his warm hands dragged down Jim’s chest, fingering at the sparse hair there. He circled Jim’s nipples with blunt fingernails, which made Jim gasp and arc his hips up. Spock gave him a raised eyebrow, hands going still.

The message was clear – Jim was going to have to be _patient._

He didn’t think he’d ever been harder. Spock leaned forward and pushed his arms over his head. The movement pressed Jim’s dick against his own stomach. He had to clamp he teeth down on the inside of his cheek to keep from moaning.

Spock examined his arms for a while, fingers tracing random lines that Jim realized were his many scars. His armpits were just slightly sweating from the meld, but that didn't stop Spock from running his fingers through the blonde hair there.

Then he seemed to catalogue every muscle of Jim’s legs, shifting back and drawing one up, bending it forward and out again. The position was so suggestive Jim thought he might _actually_ come without being touched. How long had even it been? Three minutes? Ten _hours?_

He took to staring at the lute, his legs shaking as Spock pressed his hand to the inside of his upper thigh – _so close_ – and dragged it down to his knee. The other leg was worse. Jim’s breaths came ragged and shallow.

“Are you well?” Spock asked plainly. Jim wanted to laugh. His knee was almost against his chest as Spock examined his feet.

“I – uh – don’t know. This is…” He glanced at dark eyes, shuddering. “Intense.”

Spock just kept up his looking, pressing his thumbs at strategic points that made Jim breathe harder. Sometimes it almost tickled, which is about all that kept him from having a very strange orgasm.

Spock set his foot down, and Jim almost wept with relief. It was over.

But a hand gripped his hip and he was flipped, like a burger, to his stomach. His foot somehow didn’t hit Spock across the face.

“Spock,” he gasped, shaking his head against a pillow and lifting his hips up. The sheets rubbed at his dick. “I c-can’t – “

“You can.” He was pushed roughly down, forced to lie flat. For a second he thought that was it. But the pressure at the base of his dick wasn’t quite an orgasm. When he came back to, Spock had settled over his hips, pushing his hands through his hair again. Christ Almighty.

Spock made an exhaling sound that was almost a chuckle. Jim _might_ have said that last part out loud. He wasn’t sure.

“ _Hayal'uh_ , _t’nash-veh._ I will not harm you.”

Jim pressed his face harder into the pillow. No way did Spock actually think he was this tensed up out of _fear._ The only thing he was scared of was that this orgasm, whenever it came, would actually kill him.

He was excited. He was also looking forward to payback.

“James,” Spock said suddenly, some time later when his attention was on Jim’s back. One finger dragged a line across his shoulder blade. “How was this obtained?”

Jim knew what he meant, but it was hard to connect his thoughts to his mouth.

“Frank,” he said finally. He’d shown Spock just a little bit about his step father. “Used to give us the belt for stealing the tractor.”

Spock traced over the lines some more, his touch so light it was almost hard to track. “I do not understand this phrase.”

“Um.” It was freaky to talk about this. He never had before, and he couldn’t even see Spock’s face. “He would hit us. With a belt. Y’know, punishment.”

“What indiscretion could possibly merit such abuse?”

He sounded horrified. Jim laughed. “Let me guess – Vulcans don’t believe in corporal punishment.”

“Punishment is administered through negative reinforcement. This…” His fingers stilled over what Jim knew was the worst one.

“It’s fine,” he said with a forced lightness. The more they talked about it, the less interested his dick was. “I was a bad kid. They would’ve hit me, even on Vulcan.”

“You are wrong,” Spock said with conviction. Jim wanted to turn over. “I…was also a particularly disobedient child.”

“ _You?”_ Jim braced himself to turn, but Spock took his arm and straightened it back out. He huffed into the pillow. “Did _you_ ever steal your step dad’s car and drive it off a cliff?”

“No,” Spock conceded, after a while. His hands were moving across Jim’s lower back more firmly. Not a massage, but not teasing. “I repeatedly went into the mountains. Alone. We lived near a particularly high peak. I found a crevice that I used to sustain long periods of solitude.”

“Solitude? That sounds like something Vulcans would l-like.” He stumbled over the last word as Spock shifted, hands dragging over the curve of his buttocks.

“My father became very concerned when I would not tell him my reason for doing so.”

Jim got the sense that _concerned_ meant _really pissed off_ _,_ in the Vulcan sense. “And your mom?”

Spock’s hands didn’t pause in their wide, purpose-less sweeps over the backs of his thighs. Jim’s legs were spread enough to accommodate Spock’s knees, and on a particularly high sweep up the insides, a fingertip brushed one of his testicles. He bit back a groan.

“She did not question me.”

“Hnh,” Jim said in response. Spock had just ran his fingers down the seam of his ass, one slipping down farther than the others, pulling away as he shuddered.

He was flipped again, more gently this time, getting just a glimpse of Spock’s erection before he bent down, nosing along the inside of Jim’s thigh. He pushed the other leg so Jim bent it up, all of his arousal on display. Spock didn’t seem worried about speeding things up. His nose and tongue drew lazy lines up toward Jim’s balls without ever actually touching them.

Until he did. His eyes met Jim’s briefly before sliding shut and pulling one into his mouth. Jim gasped at the sudden sensation, his hips stuttering before Spock held him still.

His mouth found its way to the other one, after a long while of gentle suckling. Jim gasped and, unfortunately, whined. Instead of grasping at Spock’s hair like he wanted to, he fisted his hands in his sheets.

“Oh, my _God_ , you’re going to kill me.”

Spock huffed air against his overheated skin. That was _two_ almost-laughs in one day. Buying the lute had been _genius_. He had to buy Spock more things. A grand piano. More ugly sweaters. _Flowers_ , even.

A warm stripe licked up the underside of his dick.

“ _Fuck_." Only Spock’s hands kept him from bucking halfway off the bed as it happened again, and again. Slow licks. Long licks. Licks that weren’t nearly slow or long _enough_.

When lips finally closed over the head of his dick, he saw stars. When the warm heat of Spock’s mouth descended, nose brushing pubic hair, he saw _galaxies._

“Please,” he gasped, heedless of how pathetic he sounded. “ _Please_ , babe.”

Spock finally sped up, far too good at this for someone who’d just had their first orgasm two days ago. His tongue was doing something Jim couldn’t even comprehend. And his mouth was so _hot_.

The force of the oncoming orgasm was so strong Jim’s legs started to shake again. Shit. Spock had a way of undermining his normally quite decent stamina.

“I’m gonna come,” he admitted through heavy breathing. Spock didn’t alter his pace, or pull away. “Spock,” Jim said urgently, pressure building in his balls. “Are you sure you want to – “

Spock tightened his hands, nails digging in. The pressure shot up all at once, sending blasts of ecstasy up his stomach and down to his toes. He grit his teeth against the sounds fighting to make their way up his throat.

Spock swallowed everything without slowing down once. Without the bond open, Jim could only be sucked on for less than a minute before it was too intense. What a shame.

“S-Spock,” he breathed, blinking his eyes open. “Hey. Ow.”

Spock pulled away with an obscene slurping noise, his forehead coming to rest on Jim’s stomach, hands releasing their grip to slide up his legs and back down.

"Fuck," Jim said again, for clarity. He sat up when he could, running his fingers through dark hair. “You sure you’ve never done that before?”

Spock nodded, then sat up, drawing Jim’s legs around his waist and taking a deep breath. “I would have you.”

His voice had that sex-deepness that was like nothing else. “Have me what?” Jim teased, laying back down and stretching.

Spock’s erection hung between his legs, green and glistening. He tilted his head to the side.

“Have _you_.” One hand moved around, two fingers sliding down from Jim’s perineum and pressing lightly against his entrance.

“ _Oh_ ,” Jim realized. Spock pulled his hand away, frowning.

“You are averse to the idea.”

“ _Fuck_ , no, I’m not,” Jim spluttered. “You should have asked me before I came!”

Spock hesitated, visibly uncertain. He didn't understand.

“It will be, um, uncomfortable. For me. If we do it now. At least, I think it will.” He’d never actually tried that, specifically. Being fucked post-orgasm sounded...strenuous. He didn't want to try something so new and have it go badly. Not right now.

“Very well.” Spock released his legs and continued to stare. Jim smiled at his indecision.

“Tell me what you want me to do." He put as much innuendo into the words as he could. Spock pressed his lips together, but his ears turned green. He didn’t want to admit to it. Wanting. But Jim knew he did.

“Well, I know you like this…” Jim coaxed him forward with his legs, until Spock kneeled over him. He took one hand and drew it to his lips, pressing an opened mouth kiss against a palm. Spock’s pupils dilated. “And this.”

He sucked a thumb into his mouth, biting lightly at the second knuckle. Spock’s eyes widened. Jim sucked harder, swirling his tongue.

“Stop.”

Jim stopped, holding the tense hand away from his face.

“I – I wish to stop.”

“Okay.” Jim let go of his wrist, quickly positioning himself so none of their skin was touching. “Okay, we’ll stop.”

Spock hovered over him, eyes wide, for a long second. Then he crushed their lips together with an intense, halting ferocity. Jim squeezed his shoulders, trying to push him back. Spock made an irritated sound and resisted him, grinding into his stomach.

“Babe.” Jim pushed him back harder, until their lips no longer touched. Spock's face was blank. Dammit. “It’s okay. You wanted to stop. Let’s stop.”

He pulled his hands away quickly, but it was hard to really get away when the mattress was so small.

“You do not need to hide,” Spock said quietly, settling on his back next to Jim. “I know I have disappointed you.”

“That’s not it.” Jim turned to his side, propping his head up. “It’s not you. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. Really, Spock, I don’t care if we _never_ – “

“Cease speaking to me as you would a child.”

The anger in his voice was surprising, and worrying. “I’m not,” Jim argued, trying to take some of the instinctive, soothing calm from his tone. “I’m trying to take care of you, you idiot. Just like I always have.”

Spock stared blankly up. “I do not require _care_.”

Jim ignored him. “Only, this is a little different…I’m scared I’ll keep doing things wrong if you don’t tell me what it is.”

“You have done nothing wrong.”

Jim nodded slowly. “Okay. I…I believe you.” He set his head down, nose against Spock’s warm shoulder. “I don’t…” Oh, this was _sappy_. “I don’t _need_ sex…to be happy with you. I just want you to know that.”

It would break his heart, but it was true. There were no deal breakers with Spock.

“That is not my concern,” Spock said in a hard voice. “I must meditate.”

Jim shut his eyes. “Do you want me to leave?”

There was a long pause. “It makes no difference.”

“Then I’ll stay,” Jim said obstinately, watching for any change in Spock’s expression. His eyes were shut, now. He didn’t answer.

“Enjoy yourself,” he sighed, turning onto his stomach. “I’m gonna take a nap.”

The room was quiet, and, he noticed belatedly, at a Human temperature. With Spock’s form radiating heat, he was comfortable enough without the blanket. And it really was a great orgasm, even if Spock had ruined the afterglow with his… well, ‘tantrum’ seemed derogatory, so Jim just cast the thought aside, letting his breathing slow.

It was on the cusp of sleep that he felt a warm hand settle over his lower back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hayal'uh - Calm (Relax, as an informal command)


	8. Last Day

They would have to leave soon. When the next directive was handed down from Bovet. Jim had a feeling it would involve taking the Ferengi wherever they decided they wanted to go. He’d suggested a few places to Fon that morning, just because she seemed to speak for the others. They seemed interested in Starbases. He let her know that they couldn’t all stay together if that was the case – there was just too many of them for any one base. From the tone of their conversation, he would guess they’d already come to a decision internally.

Engineering was the only part of the ship preparing for departure. Sat in the middle of it, in Scotty’s office, things were nice and loud. Tools on metal, blasting air and machinery. The belly of the _Enterprise_ coming to life.

Setlik III’s quiet solitude had been getting to be a little much for him.

“Where’s Boy Wonder?” He asked out loud. Chekov hadn’t been anywhere these past few days. The promotion was processed, and even though the kid had quietly declined any sort of ceremony, Jim thought he would have been accosted by gratitude at least once or twice by now.

“Dunnae.” Scotty moved his eyes rhythmically between his screen and the projection, pinpointing and cataloguing all the maintenance taking place. “Not here.”

“He’s not ignoring orders?”

“Nah. I won’ order everyone to work until tomorrow.”

“What about Keenser?”

“He’s well busy,” Scotty said, clearing his throat.

“Oh.” Jim looked back at his PADD, reading over Spock’s reports. All time stamped at an unholy hour, of course. Probably cramming a bunch of work in before leaving for the desert. They wouldn’t be back again until the next day. Jim figured it would be a painfully boring experience – a bunch of Vulcans trying not to be excited about finding some cool grass. Spock probably wasn’t even phased by sleeping one night-bag over from his future-self.

Spock never admitted to being phased by _anything_. Even when it was clearly –

No. He took a deep breath, shaking the dark thoughts away. Spock really had seemed better after his meditation. Their evening together had been…nice.

After a short dinner, they’d melded again. For a long time. Two hours, almost, of mental conversation. Mostly about Spock’s experience at the Academy. Unlike Jim, Spock only had memories of his schoolwork. Not drunken nights out on the town, or sleeping late and nearly missing important exams.

Just schoolwork. And Spock’s success at said schoolwork. Other people only existed in relation to that – who he thought was too cocky or shy to really excel. Jim knew which category _he_ would have fit into, had they been students at the same time. And that thought led to imagining what Spock as his _professor_ might have been like, and…hot. Very hot.

Those memories, while not particularly exciting, could have kept him entertained for hours. It was the crispness of them. The unique insight into Spock’s mind. He’d privately, been working on a few of his own, trying to force them into better focus by replaying them as much as possible. How Spock remembered everything so perfectly was beyond him.

The dark spot was still there. Amid the void between memories. Jim didn’t ask after it, and Spock didn’t take his shields down before climbing under the sheets when they went to sleep.

Neither of them had tried anything sexual. Jim wasn’t thinking about it. He was _definitely_ …not…

Ugh. He wasn’t thinking. Obsessing would be the word. _Had_ he been too pushy? Maybe not through his actions, but through his emotions? What was Spock supposed to do with a bondmate who was constantly, emotionally _begging_ for something he wasn’t comfortable with? Jim was, in general terms, a pretty horny dude. As comfortable as he was with slowing down, he didn’t know how to not… _want_

Especially when Spock’s lips kept brushing over the back of his neck when he was trying to sleep.

Yep. No. There he went again.

“I’m not getting anything done,” he sighed, clicking his PADD off. “Hit the gym?”

Scotty threw him a look. “What does it look like I’m doin’ here? Tetris?”

______________________________

He slept on the ship that night, alone and restless in his quarters. The Vulcan sweater was incredibly comfortable. Worth the guilt, honestly, of going into Spock’s room to get it (but, really, he had left his side of the fresher unlocked so…?).

A Yeoman called him down early the next morning, to the tower. The Ferengi had made their decision. Bovet made an appearance a few hours later to hear Jim recount the finalized details.

They would be splitting into three groups of about 35 each, all deciding to take their chances opening up trading posts on various Starbases. Bovet told Jim he’d work out the rest and coordinate with the bases himself, and that the _Enterprise_ would not be transporting them, in the interest of time.

Their new assignment would be in later that day. Jim felt a little sad about that. He’d miss having the Ferengi around. They were funny, and nice – in a weird, backward sort of way. It wasn’t like he wouldn’t be seeing them again.

Evidently, his feelings didn’t go just one way. After the meeting, Fon presented him with a box wrapped in cloth.

“What’s this?” He asked, shocked. There were so many eyes locked on him that he fumbled a bit in his unwrapping.

“A symbol of our gratitude.”

“That’s really not necessary…oh!” The blue fabric was a familiar shade – the exact same as Fon’s tunic that he’d complimented the other day. She snatched the empty box away when he lifted it up.

“It is a…robe.” She sounded unsure at the word, glancing over her shoulder at Janice, who nodded encouragingly.

Unfolded, the garment swayed down to his feet. The material was thick and soft, with shiny white and gold gemstones embedded at the collar, sleeve cuffs, and bottom seam. All in all, the colors were horrifically unmatched. A real tragedy of design.

Tears threatened in the corners of his eyes.

“The gemstones are replicated,” Fon blurted, bouncing anxiously with her hands wound together. It was the most emotion he’d seen from her. “It is not meant as an insult! We only have nothing else to give!”

“Are you kidding? This is amazing!”

She shook her head. “It is unacceptable. We will meet again, and the mistake will be rectified. Free of charge! I predict that six months of successful trade will produce – “

“Fon,” he said firmly, sliding his arms through the sleeves. His exact measurements. Janice gave him a thumbs up from the corner. “Everyone. I…I love it. Really.”

A few more Ferengi started bouncing their excitement, and soon he was in the center of a very chaotic group hug. He laughed, patting as many shoulders as he could.

“ _Neep-gren_ , Captain. We will never forget what you have done.”

“It was a group effort,” he said awkwardly. “Really! If you see Doctor McCoy, I’m sure he’d love a hug, too – “

“ _Neep-gren,”_ called a voice.

 _“Yop neep-gren,”_ cried another.

“May all your infatuations lead to re-sale!”

“Uh, you, too…” There were a lot more hugs before he was let go. His robe swayed around him as he dizzily made his way out of the sudden stream of bodies through the doors. He lost the ability to tell Fon apart, so he just waved at the lot of them. Janice bit her lip against a smile.

“Come now, Rand.” He spun the fabric a little. “What do you think?”

“It’s lovely, Captain.” She straightened the collar. “Blue suits you.”

“Maybe I should have gone the science route in school. Sometimes I think gold really washes me out.”

“Hm,” Janice said diplomatically, slipping away.

“My God,” Bones said when they met for lunch.

“It’s a gift,” Jim said defensively, checking his reflection in the window. “From the Ferengi. You got my message?”

Bones nodded, pulling out a chair for Nyota. “I’m impressed, I’ll admit. They’re really putting themselves out there.”

“Bovet seems like a good guy,” Jim hoped. “I’m sure he’ll take care of them.”

Nyota leaned over her fish to pull on Jim’s sleeve, examining the crystals.

“From the Ferengi,” he explained, less defensively this time. “They had Janice make it for me.”

She breathed a laugh, releasing him. “You look like a really flamboyant Vulcan.”

Jim stabbed his pasta. “Someone should take the mantle from Spock.”

That got him a laugh from Bones, but Nyota just rolled her eyes.

“Speak of the hobgoblin.”

Jim followed Bones’ nod, looking down at the procession of Vulcans walking from the shuttle site. Spock stood out as the only one not in dark robes, Sevek right next to him. Same height, only the slight hunch of his shoulders gave Spock an extra inch. Seeing him, even from this distance, made his chest go light and fluttery.

“I wonder if they found anything,” he wondered.

“They did.” Nyota had been watching him speculatively, he realized. “He sent me the preliminary findings this morning.”

“He didn’t send me anything.” He was fully aware of the pout in his tone.

“Probably knew you wouldn’t read it,” Bones muttered.

“I might have.” They watched the lone blue figure break away from the group, walking toward the tower and out of their line of sight. He’d probably head straight for the labs. “How was the hike yesterday?”

His companions recounted their trip to a mountain range in the Southern hemisphere with Christine and Sulu. It sounded like a good time.

After lunch, he finished up the incredible amount of paperwork waiting for him and lent a hand in Engineering. Scotty threw him into system calibrating, which was fine. Scrubbing the nacelles was better. It required elbow grease, and he got to hang from the ceiling again, getting those hard to reach spots and dodging drips of dirty soap. It was good. Felt like progress.

Keenser walked by, and in passing Jim saw he wore a green version of the gifted robe he had left in his quarters. Chekov ran past at one point, covered in grime with a mop over his shoulder.

The ship was filling up as everyone returned from shore leave. By late afternoon, the hall outside his ready room was pleasantly loud, voices still holding residual excitement from various adventures on shore. No one had been injured, to his knowledge. If they weren’t counting hangovers as injury.

He wasn’t sure why he’d chosen this place to work. It wasn’t any more pleasant than usual. But his quarters were right next to Spock’s, and working there would be impossible. Not where they had…well.

“Bridge to Captain,” rang a voice. He jumped and just very nearly avoided a coffee bath.

“Kirk, here.”

“Priority message from Starfleet.”

“I’ll take it,” he said, clicking the file as it came through. “Thank you, Ensign.”

Survey. Their mission was a survey all the way in the Omega quadrant. Blech. They’d be sitting at Warp for a while, but it _was_ close to the Neutral Zone, so it wouldn’t be completely boring. He read through the specifications and forwarded it to Spock, daydreaming about battling Romulan Birds-of-Prey.

After a gym session and late dinner with Sulu, he turned in, yawning in the turbolift. He had about a thousand things to do first thing in the morning. As much as he wanted, he couldn’t stay up and wait on – 

“Spock!”

He stood over Jim’s bed, examining the robe splayed out there. “James.”

Hearing his full name didn’t even jar him anymore. It was the closest Spock got to enthusiasm at seeing him. And his voice always dropped just a little. That _voice_.

“I didn’t think I’d get to see you tonight!” Jim moved closer, then thought better of it. “Hang on, I need to shower.”

He kicked off his shoes and pulled his shirts off, leaving them on the floor. Spock’s gaze burned into him as he stripped the rest off in the fresher without closing the door. “Did you read those reports?”

“If you are referring to those sent directly from you, the answer is yes. I am afraid I have had little time to – “

“That’s fine. I was talking about the new mission.” He stepped under the spray of hot water, slumping his shoulders in relief.

“You are asking for my opinion.” Spock’s voice was muffled through the shower door, but it sounded like he’d moved into the fresher to continue their conversation.

Jim scrubbed soap into his hair. “Yeah.”

“I have no such thing.” And, _yeah_ , his voice was now very much in the shower stall with Jim. He spun, eyebrows raised as Spock shut the door and crowded his naked body against Jim’s so he was fully under the spray.

Jim held his breath, uncertain of where this was going. But Spock stopped a few inches away, his eyes shut tight as he let the water soak into his hair. Jim clapped his hand over a startled laugh.

“You look like a drowned cat,” he chortled as Spock’s whole body shuddered. He’d mentioned he didn’t like swimming, or showers, or even – God help the Vulcans – _baths_. “Hot water doesn’t even feel a _little_ good?”

He kneaded his hands over Spock’s shoulders until he blinked his eyes open unhappily. “What is hot to you is lukewarm to me.”

Jim only hesitated for a second before reaching over to bump the temperature settings up several degrees. The space wasn’t meant for two people at once, but he safely pulled himself away from the stream as it heated up, steam billowing into the vent. It got way hotter – double entendre intended – and Spock relaxed the slightest amount, eyes closing once more. Drops of water ran down his chest, gathering in thick black pubic hair before dripping down his thighs.

Jim blinked down at his burgeoning erection and turned away, forcing his thoughts to the paperwork waiting for him in the morning. He grabbed soap and started lathering it over his crotch and legs, flinching as arms snaked around his stomach and gently tugged him back against Spock’s chest. The temperature had been turned back down.

“I did not mean for you to rush,” Spock murmured, running his hands through the soap and moving them in circular motions just over Jim’s pubic hair. “Your leaving would entirely defeat my purpose in entering.”

Jesus _fuck_. What the hell was he supposed to do with _that?_ “What purpose would that be?”

One long hand wrapped around his rapidly-hardening dick. Worse, he could feel Spock against his back, growing just as quickly. This was…this was the stuff of _fantasies_. Spock in the shower was beyond what Jim had ever dared to think of.

He pushed the hand away. After a moment, Spock turned him, his hands sliding to Jim’s back and refusing him even a _little_ space to clear his head as their cocks knocked against each other. His face was blank.

Jim hurriedly got more soap and started lathering it over Spock’s shoulders. The sooner they got out of here, the better. “How – “

His fucking voice broke.

“How was your trip?”

Spock watched as Jim worked soap all over his body. He’d pushed his hair back, which actually completely transformed his face. Not that the bowl cut business had ever made him less attractive, but this…this was something.

“Several viable specimens were collected,” he answered simply. Jim was at his groin, now. He tugged once over the green length – longingly – and moved on to the surrounding area. Only he’d forgotten about the very _sensitive_ folds. As his fingers pressed against them Spock made a deep noise and bent down to press their lips together.

Water ran down their faces and into their mouths as they kissed. Spock was soft with his touches, running his hands up and down Jim’s sides, his arms, his back. Forgetting himself, Jim ran a finger down under Spock’s dick, following the seam of skin where moisture appeared almost as fast as it was washed away.

Abruptly, he was pushed against the cold wall with force, hiked up by the back of his knees so his legs were wrapped tightly around sharp hips, supported by just one hand under his ass.

His brain went a little…vacant for a few minutes. Until a hard dick nudged against his asshole and everything came back with violent force.

“Babe,” he said against an insistent mouth, turning his head. “Where’s the fire?”

“It is here.” Spock pressed his tongue into the skin beneath his ear. Jim moaned, and then groaned, trying to figure out a way to stop this without hurting anyone’s feelings.

One step ahead, always, Spock pulled away. Just enough for them to breathe. The water pounded against his back, steam curling over his shoulders. His muscular, pale shoulders. Tensed from holding Jim’s weight so _easily_.

“I love you.”

He felt himself blush after he said it. It wasn’t even the first time, just the first time out loud. Ever. Non-sarcastically, and not to his mother. After the blush, though, where he expected the panic to kick in, there was…peace.

Spock’s intense, focused expression wavered. His hands went very tight against Jim, and then he let him down on his feet.

“Have you finished?”

Jim looked down at the lack of suds. “Yeah?”

Spock ushered him out, taking the sonics to himself while Jim toweled off and brushed his teeth. When he stepped out, he was dry and his hair was back to normal. Jim scrubbed is own hair and left the towel on the hook, pulling Spock back into his room with a hand around his neck. It was a wonder they didn’t fall over, walking while kissing, but maybe that was Spock’s gracefulness coming in handy.

“You are remarkably uncaring about – “ Spock started irritably, breaking away to pick up the robe and presumably hang it up. He stopped short at the sight of his sweater underneath. Jim grimaced. He’d meant to return that.

“You retrieved this from my quarters.”

“Um. Yeah, sorry.” Jim took the robe and stuck it in the closet.

“For what purpose?”

“What _purpose?”_ Jim laughed, turning and watching Spock running his fingers over it. “I slept in it.”

He got a confused stare.

“You’re really gonna make me say it?” Jim sighed. Spock raised an eyebrow. “It…smells like you.”

He snatched it away and hung it up quickly, face burning. Spock, without comment, climbed into bed after he’d commanded the lights off, curling around him like a cat.

“I, too, felt your absence more keenly than expected.”

“That’s a nice thing to say,” Jim smiled, not really believing him. Spock breathed against his back so slowly he might be sleeping.

“May I show you something?”

Jim hesitated, then wiggled around to face him. Spock saw or felt his nod. Warm fingers touched his face, then his vison turned bright.

It was, again, different. Jim was thrust directly into a memory without explanation.

He was looking at a child. A little Vulcan girl sat across a rug from little Spock. The tone of his inner thoughts, the hesitancy of it, was much like the memory of Amanda and cilantro. Around them, the room was big, and dark. Lit only by torches hung in metal sconces. Something had just happened, but Jim had no idea what. Spock wasn’t thinking about it. He focused nervously on the girl.

Her long hair was piled up on her head, woven with deep blue ribbon. A little alien doll, but no child from Earth could have eyes so blank. It was deeply unsettling to Jim _and_ , he realized, young Spock. They were both afraid of that emptiness.

“You will be bondmates,” Sarek said, his voice echoing off the unseen ceiling. A Vulcan woman stood at his side. Maybe this girl’s mother. “When one first meets _pon-farr_ , the _Kan-Telan_ will bind you. It is your responsibility to meet again with clear minds. A bond sullied by emotion is weak. Do not burden your bondmate with such shortcomings.”

It wasn’t explicit, but Spock understood these words to be directed at him. Shame almost made him squirm under T’Pring’s blank assessment of him. Wondering what she thought of her future bondmate _was_ weak. He had to do better, or she –

The meld ended as soon as Jim wished it. It had been their shortest yet, but still disoriented him for several long moments. He couldn’t see Spock’s expression in the darkness. Fingers lingered under his chin.

“Sorry,” he rasped. His stomach was doing unpleasant things as he put two and two together. “It just felt – you’re not trying to say you like me _too much_ , are you?”

He saw the quick end to their sex the other night from a different perspective. Spock’s wide eyes and his need to meditate. It…couldn’t be _that_ simple, could it?

“Your dad’s a dick,” he said bluntly into the silence. Just for clarity.

“He is Vulcan, Jim,” Spock said almost sternly. But the way he drew the covers up over their shoulders was gentle. “As am I.”

 _No, you’re not,_ Jim thought to himself. _Not entirely._

That’s why he needed out of the meld. Spock would probably be really upset at a thought like that.

“Our _tel-t’hai’la_ is very strong. I do not believe you have noticed this.” 

“…No. No, I haven’t noticed anything. You won’t take your shields down.”

Spock pushed his chin up a little, like he was trying to meet Jim’s eyes in the pitch-dark. “I have felt you. Regardless of any precaution, I cannot block you completely.”

Jim felt himself frown. “And that’s…bad?”

Spock weighed that for a few seconds. “When you visited this planet’s beaches, you imbibed a large amount of alcohol.”

Jim smiled guiltily. “Who told?”

“ _No one_. I felt your intoxication.”

Jim sat up sharply, leaning over Spock on one elbow. “You _what?”_

“You could not have known,” he said, his voice carrying more emotion than usual. It was placating, calming. “It did not keep me from my work.”

No wonder he’d been so mad that day. “I’m sorry.”

“And…last night."

Aw, shit. Jim dropped back to his pillow, covering his face with his hand. “Don’t say it.”

“When you touched yourself – “

“ _Spock_.”

Jim’s hand was pried away, pulled around Spock’s waist so there was nothing between them. “Did you think of me?”

His voice was doing that thing. Did he have _control_ over it, or what? Some innate Vulcan ability to make Humans melt in their arms?

“Yes,” Jim admitted, rolling his eyes. “Of course I did. You felt it?”

“I did. It was faint. What unsettles me, James,” he pressed their foreheads together, sighing gently. “Is how I felt in response.”

 _Oh_. There was that damn fluttering again.

“I longed to lower my shields. So you might know I could feel you.”

Jim released a shaking breath. “I like making you feel things.”

His voice was miserable. “I know.”

“ _I’m_ not Vulcan,” Jim said redundantly. Just in case Spock had forgotten he didn't _care_ if there were a shit ton of emotion in their bond.

“I know that, as well.”

Jim graciously did _not_ pinch him. “I know you know. So…I really didn’t do anything wrong? Except getting drunk, I guess.”

“That is accurate.”

Frustrated, Jim pressed himself closer. “I want to help.”

“Yes,” Spock breathed. _Yes,_ but. “But I am not convinced that is possible.”

“Babe – “ Jim made an angry noise against the sudden kiss. The overly-apologetic brushing of tongue. Jim knew when he was being distracted on purpose, but he let it happen. Spock didn’t pull away until they were both breathing hard.

“I will…acclimate,” he finally said, pulling Jim’s hand to his mouth to press light kisses against his fingers. “It will not come between us again.”

Jim pressed his lips together. If he spoke his mind right now, they’d get nowhere. They were both too stubborn. This would take time to unravel, Jim thought. Or maybe…maybe this was just how it would be.

“Are you happy?” He asked very quietly. It was cruel, he knew, considering Spock had already answered this once. It would just be really nice to hear it.

Spock’s mouth stilled on his knuckle. “What a question to ask, after what I have just told you.”

Jim laughed at his teasing tone. “I let you pretend you didn’t have feelings for a _long_ time. And I’m still willing. Just not here. Not when we’re…like _this_.”

He tightened his arm, and Spock’s tiny inhale of breath was beautiful.

“James.” This kiss was soft and breathy. Spock was getting _very_ good with his tongue. “We are _t’hai’la._ You know my answer.”

Yes. He did. It didn’t make it any less baffling to him that Spock couldn’t _say_ it, for some reason. _Vulcans_.

“Alright, elf-boy,” he teased, fixing his pillow. “I’ll stop torturing you.”

Spock sighed sharply as Jim fitted his face against his throat. “That is the last time I will allow you to refer to me as such.”

______________________

Jim held his fist to the door but did not knock. He shouldn’t be nervous. Nervous was _illogical_. It just wouldn’t sit right with him if he left without saying goodbye.

“Jim.”

Jim jumped a foot in the air, turning to face Sevek. One eyebrow was already raised at this reaction.

“I thought you were in your office,” Jim explained, haltingly. “Um.”

“I have just returned from the laboratory. May it be assumed you came to discuss the details of our desert survey?”

Jim narrowed his eyes. “Sorry, no.”

“Ah.” Brown eyes twinkled. “Pleasantries, then. It is not locked.”

Jim looked down at the door blankly before turning the handle. They took their places as they had however many days previous. Four? Felt longer.

“I just wanted to see you before we left.”

Sevek nodded. “You have enjoyed this planet.”

Okay, so, he knew. Jim tried not to blush too hard. Christ.

“I have. I…” Looking at the ceiling was easier. “I wanted to thank you. For everything.”

“That is quite unnecessary.”

“Yeah, I know,” Jim sighed, glancing at him. “You sound like Spock.”

Sevek smiled, the lines of his face so much more open than his counterpart. “You are worried for him.”

Jim nodded, hoping he wouldn’t have to elaborate. Thankfully, Sevek knew exactly what he was talking about.

“It will take time.”

“How?” Jim sat forward abruptly, speaking in a whisper without meaning to. “How do you do it? Either of you. How do you just _refuse_ to let yourselves feel things?”

Something in his voice seemed to cause Sevek pain. He looked away sadly. “You are thinking in terms of denial, when it is merely a desperate reach for control.”

“I know. But… _you’re_ different. You stopped fighting so hard, didn’t you?”

Sevek’s expression went stony. Jim feared he’d overstepped – even though he’d definitely said things _way_ more impertinent – and apologized. Sevek waved it off, his eyes light years away.

“Youth is fleeting, James.” His tone was wistful. Cautionary. “Youth is uncertain, and vast. It is infinitely more so when weathered alone.”

Cowed, Jim looked up. Sevek met his eyes with a fierce look. Fierce and knowing. _There is more to come,_ it said. Things that he and Spock would face together. His throat stuck shut at that look, and as he looked at Sevek’s face he saw Spock. Beautiful, intelligent, hopelessly repressed Spock.

He’d been dumb to expect anything short of an existential lecture by coming here. No real answers in sight. But it might be the last time he ever saw Sevek, so he felt he owed it to the both of them to make this effort.

“I’ve got about an hour,” he said hopefully, settling back. “You _could_ tell me about the desert, if you wanted. Spock’ll be impressed that I know about it.”

Sevek raised an eyebrow, and when Jim remained absolutely serious, he smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew okay have some more fluff. I know it's short but I think I have my second wind going for the plot, which I'm hoping you will Like. Anyone who left a comment is a blessing.


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